Leadbelly: She Wanted To Die
by sidewalk serfer girl
Summary: Chapter 107: You'd just love to hear me beg for mercy, wouldn't you? Sequel to 'She Wanted To Die'.
1. Suddenly Upside Down

**So here we are now  
In the aftermath  
And everything is turned around  
Here we are now  
After everything  
Suddenly upside down**

* * *

Jet relayed the info he had gathered from his last visit to the movie set. 

The tension in the room could be drilled full of holes if he'd known what the fuck was going on. Spike stood on one side of the room holding his arms. A cigarette burned and dangled from his fingers. He hadn't taken a puff yet.

Faye sat in the bright orange armchair with her back to everyone.She hadn't bothered with any make-up today for some reason so her lips looked tiny and pressed together. Almost like a grimace.

Despite all the awkward silence, to which Jet was definitely unaccustomed to when the three of them were in a room together, Jet plowed through his story. He hated the position this was putting him in. He knew whatever had happened while he was away, it was big. And, of course, he couldn't ask about it so instead he had to pretend like he didn't notice anything out of the ordinary was going on like some sort of idiot.

He would have thought that the idea that Faye might actually have relatives, wealthy relatives at that, would thrill her to no end. But Faye sat lax against the chair's arm like she had been beaten and left there to die. He heard Spike swear when, assumedly, the cigarette had burnt down to his fingertips. He put the stinging appendages in his mouth, muttering to himself. Jet sighed and continued.

"So I'm thinking that whoever this woman is who pitched the idea for the movie to Akaido is the person we're looking for. She's probably using this whole film as a means of obtaining information about us. Then she's going to approach your family. The Spectors." Jet leaned toward Faye in an attempt to see her reaction to the mention of her surname in so many years.

"Faye Spector," she said sullenly. Not the reaction Jet was hoping for but at least it broke the silence.

"I thought I was from Singapore. I visited the lot where the house used to be." Flat and emotionless. Jet was at his wit's end.

"Yeah but you saw that photo. Your dad was white. Your mother must have been the one from Singapore. They must have relocated or something," Spike finally spoke up, fingers still in his mouth, regretting the wasted cigarette.

"From America," Jet added, happy that the three of them were finally engaging in conversation. It wouldn't last long, though.

"I'm going to bed," Faye stood and stretched, scratching at her ribs then slinking down the corridor towards her room. Jet turned to look at Spike. He was staring at the empty space she had occupied only moments before.

Jet had had enough.

"Okay, what the hell is going on?"

Spike sobered and his eyes flicked back and forth from his hands to the ground and back again. "What?"

"Yeah. Exactly. What? What happened after I left? I mean you weren't the best of friends or anything but at least you guys were talking and interested in this whole film thing. What happened?" Jet scraped at a coffee stain on the table in front of him. "Is it because you trashed her room?"

"No," Spike said. He paused as though he were tasting the words in his mouth. Whatever he was going to say, he thought better of it and loped silently out of the room.

Just for that, those two could forage for their own food tonight.

* * *

**Lyrics from Oranger's _Suddenly Upside Down_.**


	2. Harold and Joe

**Nothing ever gets in my way  
Nothing ever gets on my mind  
Nothing ever makes me stop to think about  
Nothing of the kind  
Nothing ever puts me out  
Nothing ever pulls me in  
Nothing ever makes me want to jump  
Nothing makes me want to begin  
Nothing ever gets me down  
Nothing ever gets me uptight  
Nothing ever makes me run around  
**

**And nothing makes me feel I might**

* * *

_Faye Spector._

_I am Faye Spector._

She stared at herself in her little compact mirror, sitting on her bed. She was tired of moping. She had a whole new identity to familiarize herself with. She had family looking for her. People who cared that she was alive. A sister, at least.

_A sister._

Faye had a sister somewhere. She didn't take her eyes off her reflection as she reached across and pulled one of her dresser drawers open. She had done a rush job of cleaning up her room after Spike's rampage yesterday by grabbing handfuls of things and pushing them into drawers and cupboards and boxes. Not that she had a hell of a lot to call her own. Mostly just stuff like creams and bath gels and shampoos. She had a few clothes lying around but nothing she could wear practically.

She pulled a sponge and her bottle of foundation out from the drawer she was searching through and dabbed some of its liquid under her eyes.

Right.

No use moping. Have a cigarette.

_Don't mind if I do,_ Faye thought to herself, smiling and reaching back into the drawer for a stray cigarette. She found one hiding in the sleeve of a sweater she had never worn. It still had the price tags on it. She'd forgotten to return it. It was one of her treats to herself. She would do the old trick of buying something, wearing it and then returning it the next day claiming it wasn't her colour or whatever. She pulled the sweater out in front of her and touched it to her face. It wasn't the sort of thing she'd normally wear. It didn't display any cleavage or midriff. It was pink.

Pink.

What the fuck had she been thinking?

She whipped off her red sweater and halter top and tugged the neck of the pink sweater over her head. She held the compact back so that she could see her head and shoulders in it. It didn't look too bad. This might actually be something that Faye Spector would wear. She leapt from her spot on the bed and rummaged through more drawers. She found a pair of black cuffed capris, once again with the price tags still on it. She tore off her hotpants. She pulled the yellow band from her hair.

Once she was done she looked down at herself, not having the luxury of a full-length mirror, mildly pleased with what she saw. She put on some lipstick. She suddenly felt as though she could do anything.

And it was that philosophy that took her to the doorway of Spike's room. Spike was lying back against the short, steel headboard of his bed, silently brooding over a cigarette. The room was blue with smoke and darkness.

Faye pointed a finger at him like she was pointing a gun at his head.

"Fuck you," she said.

"Pardon?" Spike replied, looking as though he were stunned but determined not to show it.

"You heard me. I said fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck Julia. And fuck your stupid, chicken shit deathwish."

* * *

**Lyrics used from The Cure's _Harold and Joe_. Don't sue, please.**


	3. Brilliant Dance

**So this is strange,  
Our sidestepping has come to be  
A brilliant dance  
Where nobody leads at all **

And the plaster dented from your fist  
In the hall where you had your first kiss  
Reminds you that the memories will fade.

* * *

Okay. This was strange. 

What the hell was Faye doing in his room. That was number one. Number two was how she had mustered the audacity to come into his room all _fuck-fuckity-fuck-fuck_ the way she had. Spike's mind raced for a comeback of some sort.

"Well, fuck you, too," he said. _Good one. Geez_. He pulled himself together and said, "You know, you were always bitching about how you had no place else to go. Well now you've probably got hundreds of relatives to mooch off of. You've known this for a few hours. So what the hell are you still doing here if we treat you so goddamn awful?"

Faye laughed at that, "Fuck me if I know the answer to that."

Spike stood from his bed and took a long drag from his cigarette before stubbing it out on his dresser top. "Well, lady, you're about to be fucked because we both know you know the answer!"

Without any mind behind it, Faye's foot lashed out in a fierce kick and struck him in the jaw. He had left his guard down because he didn't think he was in the sort of situation where he needed it. But after a stunned nano-second, Spike came back with the back of his hand. He couldn't take her out like he would have some thug. Despite this display of insanity, she was still Faye. And he didn't want to have to hurt her again.

Faye's head swung to the side and she took a moment to sober up. She stood back to her full height. "What's the answer, then?" she muttered, removing her hand from her mouth and leaving a faint trail of blood behind it.

"It's not going to happen again, Faye. I don't know why it happened in the first place but it was a one-time thing. I lost my head for a minute. It's not going to happen again," he said quietly.

Faye tugged at her sweater hem, suddenly aware of every bit of exposed skin on her body, "Say it one more time so you can convince yourself."

Spike clenched his fists. He brought one out ferociously into the space on the wall beside Faye's head. He regretted it immediately and swore as he brought the splintered knuckles back to his side.

"What's the answer, then?" she asked again, unfazed. Spike turned his back to her and rubbed at his sore hand.

"This stupid crush you have on me. And that's what it is: stupid. And if you had any brains left in your head you'd have left by now. Like you said you would. Please."

_Please?_

"Stop treating me like a child. In case you've forgotten, I'm a lot older than you," Faye's shoulders sank. Where was the power that had propelled her here? And finally she resigned herself to it. And it sat in the pit of her stomach like the most bitter pill she'd ever swallowed.

"I love you."

* * *

**Lyrics from Dashboard Confessional's _Brilliant Dance_ were used. Don't sue, please.**


	4. Trouble

**Now I wanna sniff some glue  
Now I wanna have somethin' to do  
All the kids wanna sniff some glue  
All the kids want somethin' to do**

Ed was trying to see how long she could hold her breath before she passed out. Ein was laying by her side, watching with what appeared to be bemusement.

Bemusement from a dog.

Ed's face was purple when she couldn't hold the air in any longer. She tried futilely to press her hands over her nose and mouth but when she exhaled the air leaked through her fingers.

"This is harder than Ed thought it would be. There must be some secret trick to it," she said resignedly. She felt woozy with the freedom to breathe again and fell back onto the dusty ground. She stared up at the sky, shielding her eyes from the sun. She could hear the buzzing of her father's voice in the background of all the other street noises. The food was nice but the company lacked something to be desired. She was bored. Yes, surrounded by all these people and new sights and sounds, bored.

"Boooooring...boringboringboring...boooooring..." she sang loudly. She saw people's heads, silhouetted by the sun, turn and look down at her as they passed. She stretched her legs out and made imprints of angel wings in the dirt with her arms. "No fun. No fun." She said, frowning.

_Why suddenly so sad?_

"Son! Come here! I want you to meet someone!"

"Coming, Father!" Ed called out. She leapt to her feet and flew to her father's side. Ein yipped in offense to the sudden movement and trotted to follow her.

"Yes Father," she said, saluting him. Appledelhi proudly put an arm around Ed's shoulders and whipped her around to face someone.

_Faye._

"Ed! It's been so long!" Faye cried, throwing her arms around Ed. She gave her a squeeze and swung her around before placing her back on her feet.

"Your old friend Faye is visiting the set! Aren't you happy to see her?" Appledelhi whacked Ed on the back. Ed quickly looked down at Ein who was licking the very tip of Faye's boot. He snuffled and turned away without a sound. Without a growl.

"Ed?" Faye seemed to assert. Ed flung herself to the ground and pressed her face to Faye's boot. She sniffed it and looked up at her.

"You're not Faye."

**I'm beat, I'm torn  
Shattered and tossed and worn  
Too shocking to see**

**Trouble  
Trouble move from me  
I have paid my debt  
Now won't you leave me in my misery**

Faye fell asleep in a haze of confusion. It was like the past twenty-four hours weren't real. Once she had uttered those words it was as though they had been her last. Spike's face was blank, revealing nothing concerning what he may have been thinking. She had suddenly become a ghost as he calmly drew a cigarette from a hidden pocket somewhere. He placed it between her lips and brushed past her and through the door.

She hadn't realized how exhausted she was until she finally stopped moving. She lay still on her bed with the weight of a dead person and despite the screaming and spinning in her head she managed to slip into unconsciousness within only a few moments.

"You're so beautiful..." The man's voice sighed.

_Spike?_ Faye thought.

"My beautiful little girl..."

"Dad..." she whispered. He was tall and strong in an expensive suit and she remembered his eyes were green when she looked at him. Green eyes like hers.

"Do you like it?" he asked.

Faye felt the weight in her hands and looked down. She held a porcelain doll with black spiralling hair and baby blue ribbons. Her eyes opened when held upright. Faye watched her eyes close when she cradled the doll in her arms.

"Yes," Faye said.

"I know you've grown too old for dolls but she was so pretty and I know how much you used to love to collect them." He stroked his daughter's hair as he spoke and she, in turn, stroked her doll's hair.

"Lily. Her name is Lily." Faye looked up at her father, "Thank you."

"Darling...anything for you," he whispered.

"What do you remember?" another voice asked. The doll was gone, her hands were free. She looked up to where her father had been standing a moment earlier.

_Spike._

"I used to collect dolls," she replied, "and my father loved me."

Spike's spindly fingers reached out for her. They touched her face. A finger slipped along her bottom lip and a sigh escaped her as her lips parted. Her teeth pressed gently into his thumb and her stomach tightened when he moaned and pulled her forehead against his own.

"What else do you remember?" he asked.

"I love you," she said.

She had been staring at the ceiling for several minutes before realizing she was awake. Her face was moist with tears. There were people out there who loved her once. The idea was an incredible one. Unsettling. She had given up on her past. The past didn't matter. Spike had told her that. Her father was so perfect. Exactly like she always imagined a father would be had she had one.

She sat up and reached between her dresser and her bed to pull out the tin. She pried it open with her delicate fingernails and rifled through the papers and photographs. Her fingertips stroked the image of her father in his suit standing beside Faye with a cap and gown. Her mother stood on her other side wearing a mandarin dress. Their smiles were dazzling.

"Faye..." She heard a voice she didn't recognize from her dream and looked up from the shreds of memories in her lap.

"Jet..." she said. He stood in the doorway with a look of concern on his face. He rubbed absently at the elbow of his mechanical arm.

"We got a message from Ed. You know how the nutty kid is...I could barely get any information out of her besides that the woman we're looking for is on the set. I thought if you were up to it we could..."

Faye threw the tin to her side and flew at Jet, flinging her arms around him. She was cracking and she needed someone to hold her together. Jet unsurely raised his arms around her shoulders and held her as she rattled and shook with sobs. He couldn't remember the last time he had to comfort a hysterical female. He filed through his memories and suddenly remembered what he was supposed to do.

"It's okay..." he said, patting her head, "It'll be okay..."

**Lyrics from The Ramones' _Now I Wanna Sniff Some Glue_ and Cat Stevens' _Trouble_ were quoted. Please don't sue.**


	5. Run, run, run

**Run, run, run, run, run  
Take a drag or two  
Run, run, run, run, run  
Gypsy Death and you  
**

One of two options.

_Drink or work._

Spike didn't have any money so that left him with option number two.

He wandered back through Tharsis towards the set knowing that as a source of information it had been exhausted ages ago. But he figured while there wasn't a thing he could do about the Faye back on the ship, there was most certainly something he could do about Copy Cat Faye.

A message received by Jet from Ed said that she was still on the set. More or less, anyways. The message was a jumble of nonsensical phrases and nursery rhymes, but Spike was able to read between the lines. He knew he had finally lost it; he was able to read Ed.

Ed had said she and Ein were going to be following the woman with Tomato in tow. She would relay locations to Jet via the vid-screen and then Jet would get the important messages to Spike through his communicator.

"Keep an eye out. She's heading down Red Line. That's on the east side of the set." Jet cut out before Spike was able to confirm receiving the message.

Spike supposed it was somewhat comforting to know that there were still people out there who wanted him dead. At this point in time, however, he couldn't really give much of a shit if Jet was mad at him. He had more important things to worry about. Jet was just a drop in the bucket.

Four cigarettes left.

_Three._

Spike puffed thoughtfully at the cigarette clamped between his lips as he loped down an alley towards Red Line Avenue. He knew this city like the back of his hand. They'd been through this town so many times he could map it all out to the last milk crate and garbage can. He leaned against a wall near the mouth of the alley and enjoyed the rest of his smoke, peering around the corner to see if he could spot 'Faye'. His communicator blipped and he casually pulled it from his jacket pocket. He didn't voice a greeting of any sort.

"She's walking up Red Line towards Mills."

Spike looked up the street to his left and sure enough he spotted the bouncing purple hair and yellow hot pants between business men and hot dog vendors dotting the sidewalks. She was walking purposefully towards the public parking lot behind Freed's Dirty Spoon. Not far behind, ducking behind newspaper boxes and lamp posts, was Ed balancing her cardboard computer on her head. Ein followed close to Ed's heels.

Spike moved quickly to the corner of Mills and Red Line and crossed over to the other side of the street.

"Hi!" he called out, holding his hand high in the air. The woman turned and looked back over her shoulder.

"Was there something else?" she asked when Spike was at her side. "Tell Akaido we'll talk about it tomorrow. I'm beat."

Spike looked at her curiously. It was absolutely uncanny. She was identical to Faye. Small, red mouth. Large green eyes.

_Comfort level going down._

"You mean you don't recognize me?" he grinned.

The woman regarded him for a moment, blinking. "Oh! Spike! Sorry! It's just that all those actors look so much alike." Her face broke open into a smile and she patted his arm.

_Definitely not Faye._

"So what was it you wanted?" she asked.

"Well, for a start, who the hell are you?"

Before Spike realized what happened, one of the woman's arms snapped out and struck him in the side of the head. She dove into a crouching position and swung a leg out to knock Spike's out from under him. Struggling to get back up into a fighting stance, slowed down because of the grinding pain in his middle so that he looked much like a turtle on its back trying to get back on its feet, Spike watched the woman weave back out of the parking lot and into the crowds of people making their way through the street.

"Spike!" Ed called out as she ran out from behind a parked car. "Hold this for Ed!" She plopped her Tomato into his lap as she and Ein zipped past him and out into the street in pursuit of Faye Doppelganger.

_Could this get any more humiliating?_

Spike finally stood and took a few wobbly steps before breaking into an unsteady run in the direction Ed and Ein had gone with Ed's beloved computer in his arms.

Up ahead he could see the woman, not camouflaging herself well within the crowd of business men and career women wearing dark suits in her yellow halter top and hotpants. Ed was close behind her but Spike doubted she'd be able to catch the woman. Ein was little more than an annoyance, tripping people and nipping at Ed's heels.

Spike wondered how he was managing to be outrun by a midget dog and his barefooted human friend.

**Lyrics from The Velvet Underground's _Run, Run, Run_ were quoted. Don't sue.**


	6. Poker Alice

**And so a secret kiss  
Brings madness with the bliss  
And I will think of this  
When I'm dead in my grave  
Set me adrift and I'm lost over there  
And I must be insane  
To go skating on your name  
And by tracing it twice  
I fell through the ice  
Of Alice**

* * *

Faye raced down Crane Street and turned onto Red Line almost taking down three nuns and a derelict. She bounced off the curb and crossed the road. 

This woman could be the answer to all her problems. No doubt if she knew so much about Faye's life then she must have some more information about her past. Faye thought she had pretty much gotten most of her memory back during her visit to the old lot her house used to occupy in Singapore, but after that dream, and looking through all those letters and photographs, she realized she knew barely anything about who she was over fifty years ago.

She had lain back in the orange armchair while Jet filed through Ed's messages on the vid-screen. She was quiet and soggy like a snot-rag, waiting for something to fall through the ceiling, crushing her to death and putting her out of her misery but then she heard Ed's excited voice hollering from the vid-screen.

"I found Faye-Faye! But not Faye. She smells like cherries."

"Good, good! Keep following her and keep us posted. Spike'll be down there somewhere already."

"Aye, aye, mon capitaine," she quipped, saluting Jet before starting to walk after the woman. With Ed balancing her computer on her head and walking behind the imposter, Jet and Faye were able to see the world through Ed's eyes. Indeed, the woman looked identical to Faye from behind.

When Jet looked over to see Faye's reaction, she was gone.

In her room, Faye grabbed a pair of shoes and pushed her feet into them as she hopped back out into the corridor. She ran back in when she realized she'd forgotten her gun.

"Where is she?"

Jet looked at her carefully for a second, probably wondering who or what had breathed new life into her body when she had been dead only moments before. Dumbly, he answered, "Red Line. She's heading north down..."

Faye was gone before he could finish.

Now she was running like she was being chased by carnivorous horses in some kind of freakish nightmare. One of the nuns gave her the finger when she almost knocked them over but she didn't see that. She was running too fast.

Sure enough, she could see herself in yellow bounding towards her reflection in pink. The woman didn't register who Faye was until she came face to face with the barrel of her Glock.

"Who the FUCK are you?" Faye ground through gritted teeth.

"Faye Valentine," the woman said evenly, raising her arms up beside her head.

"Very funny," Faye replied, steadying her gun at the woman's forehead. Faye didn't have time for this. She was too tired and the sight of Spike over this woman's shoulder was distracting her. "Who are you?" she growled.

"Poker Alice."

Faye blinked. Poker Alice? That was her old alter-ego.

As though the woman had read her mind, she said, "You're probably thinking 'but that's me'. _You stupid bitch!_ I'm just taking an eye for an eye. You used my name in all your scams and laundering and when they came looking for someone to answer for it who do you think they called on? _Poker Alice_. I got pulled in and I've been in prison for the past eight months." She smirked, "Isn't plastic surgery a marvel?" Alice stroked her chin, bringing her face closer to Faye's, showing off the finer details of the work she'd had done, "I mean I know we always sort of looked alike. The string of witnesses that put me away are proof of that. But I figured I could kill two birds with one stone.Give you some paybackand make some extra dough at the same time. Only thing is I didn't figure on you having a bigger bounty on your head than my own. That made it a little slow-going. I suppose I figured that was gonna be nothing once I convinced your family I was you."

Faye gave her head a good shake and looked back at Poker Alice, "But all this stuff you knew about me...how...? And the movie..."

Poker Alice smiled and shrugged her shoulders, "Don't ask me. I got all the information from Akaido's people. I'm not sure what Akaido's getting out of all this besides a helluva summer blockbuster."

"Jesus Christ!" Spike moaned, "So there's _more?_" He fiddled with the handcuffs he had pulled from the back of his pants, hands shaking from frustration as he took down Alice's arms and locked them together at the wrists. Ed wrapped herself around her legs and sniffed her, probably inhaling the scent of cherries she had mentioned earlier.

"Who gave Akaido the idea? We heard it was you," Faye felt nauseous. She thought this whole thing was coming to an end, but it didn't look like that at all anymore. Jet was going to freak.

"Nope. 'Fraid not. Akaido's people approached _me_. My only interest was that the Spectors would catch wind of it and start looking for their missing Czar. Then they'd find _me_. That's all gone to shit now. Akaido's people are the ones who provided me with all the background info. The only thing I knew about you before all this started was that you were the dirty, whore-bitch who stole my name and landed me in jail. Thanks a whole fucking lot by the way."

Faye pressed the barrel of her gun into Alice's forehead, wanting to take her head off but Spike jerked the woman around and started pushing her back down the street. Ed picked up her Tomato and trotted happily after him. Ein yapped and chased Ed. Faye stood where she was, frozen and still holding the gun out at arm's length.

_When was this going to be over?_

* * *

**I do not own Cowboy Bebop, or the lyrics to Tom Waits' song _Alice_**


	7. On the Road to Find Out

Faye felt guilty about turning Alice in for approximately four minutes. Spike collected the reward, which was a piddly 490, 000 woolongs. Jet was mildly happy to see some money again but it wasn't nearly enough to cover the repairs for the Red Tail which was still out of commission and the ever-growing list of repairs for the Bebop. So after a short and uncomfortable meeting between the three of them they decided to spend some of the money on some food and ammo.

Spike had mused in the past that they never really felt much like a team to him but he never quite understood what that really meant until the past forty-eight hours. Jet was barely speaking to him while Faye was at the opposite end of the spectrum, her eyes pleading with Spike whenever his guard was down or his gaze shifted unconsciously in her direction.

However, over the last couple of hours it seemed Faye had given up entirely on trying to mend things with him. She'd slipped quietly and defeatedly out of the main room. On her way to her room, she'd barely acknowledged Ed, who had decided that she needed to play 'visit' with her friends and was hanging around the ship as though she and Ein had never left. She hadn't wanted to leave her father for even a moment for fear that he'd pick up and disappear again but her yearning to be back on the Bebop was greater at the moment.

"Spike...Spike, tell me a story," Ed was curled up on the steps with Ein resting beneath her head.

"No," Spike muttered from his corpse-in-a-coffin position on the sofa. None of them had wanted to go grocery shopping so they all lay about the ship hungry and worn down to their bones hoping someone else would be the one to volunteer for the hunt for food.

"Okay. Ed will tell Spike a story."

"Ugh," Spike groaned and rolled over. "No stories right now, Ed. Spike-person not in mood-mood," he said.

"You belong with her."

Spike's eyes opened. He blinked as though he hadn't heard her right, remaining still.

"_You belong with her_, Spike."

Spike pretended to be sleeping, although it was very difficult with Ed's first coherent uttering since he couldn't even remember hovering over the two of them like a heavy, black smog.

"Cats would be entombed with their masters thousands of years ago," she said. Then, as though nothing had happened in the past few minutes she said, "Spike...Spike, tell me a story."

**There's so much left to know  
And I'm on the road to find out**

It was time to meet her family.

Faye had taken a long bath and came out of it resigned to it. She had packed up the few things she had. She thought about leaving a note but figured that would be stupid. She didn't want or have any attachment to these people. Jet had been good to her and she had already tied up any loose ends she had with him by giving him her share of Alice's reward for the Red Tail. If she was going to be coming into as much money as Poker Alice had said then she was just going to have Jet sell the Red Tail and keep the money for the Bebop before moving on with her new life as Faye Spector.

She zipped up the small, black bag she had all her things in. She sat on the corner of her bed and inhaled the scent of oranges and cigarettes that had settled in the tiny quarters she had called her home for a year. Her mouth quirked with a slight tug of sadness. She stood up and left the room, deciding to leave the bag of her personal possessions sitting at the foot of the bed. She wanted a clean start. Nothing to remind her of Faye Valentine.

Faye Valentine had been such an utter failure. In three years a prophet managed to save the world. Faye Valentine had accomplished nothing.

She wandered down the corridor when she heard a click. She turned around to come face to face with the barrel of Spike's Jericho 941.

"Familiar?" he was smirking.

"Yeah. But what's the poi--"

Spike swung the gun away from her forehead, clamping an arm around her waist and slamming her against the wall. His mouth found hers for a moment or two before she struggled to get her hands on his chest. She shoved him away, turning her back on him. Spike pressed the whole length of his body against the back of hers. "Christ..." he moaned hoarsely.

"I'm taking your advice. I'm leaving."

"I can't make you stay," he said. He brought his head down, sweeping the length of her neck with the very tip of his nose, breathing in her scent. Oranges and cigarettes.

"Good-bye, Spike," she whispered.

She extricated herself from his hold on her and moved down the corridor slowly but determinedly. When Spike turned to face the other end of the corridor, Jet was standing there.

Spike finally realized that Jet had known all along.

**Lyrics quoted from Cat Stevens' _On The Road To Find Out_. Don't sue, please.**


	8. Hands Down

**When the unbelievable object  
Meets the unstoppable force  
There's nothing you can do about it  
**

He couldn't keep her here.

For a second, it felt as though she were relenting. Her lips apart, her breath coming fast. Her pelvis moved very deliberately against his. It instantly ignited the most delicious ache in his groin that soured just as immediately as it had come when she seemed to get her head back. She shoved him. _Hard_.

Not ready just yet to let her go, Spike trapped her between himself and the unyielding steel of the ship's wall. He mused over how awkwardly they fit together. He was all angles and sharp ends while she was all curves. Parts of her were touching long-neglected parts of him. The only thought that ran through his head was that he had to keep her here. It felt as though she was the only thing holding him up.

"Christ..." he'd groaned. Blood rushed to different parts of his body as each became aroused.

This was crazy. Fucking crazy.

_I need her._

_Above me, below me, all around me._

"Good-bye, Spike."

He stared after her, eyes glassy, both lips and groin swollen, and didn't realize Jet was standing at the other end of the hallway until the sound of Faye's retreating footsteps faded from earshot.

"She's not coming back this time," Jet said, not looking at him. He sighed and shook his head, wandering down the steps into the other room.

Spike's gun dropped noisily to the floor and he broke into a run.

**I will light your cigarette  
With a star that has fallen from the sky  
I don't know how you do it but  
I love the way you do it  
When you're doing it to me**

"Faye..." She heard his voice and wondered if she should turn around. No doubt, if she looked at him again she would love him again and she had other things to do right now.

She didn't have time for this.

"Fuck! Stop a minute!" he cried. His voice broke and her heart broke with it.

"Spike..." she went rigid all over, fists balled against her hips, "...I can't..."

But she did. She stopped. And she suddenly felt the pressure of his palms, those fingers, curling around her arms. His breath came hard and fast against her ear and words fell from his lips as though they were beyond his control.

"I can make you stay. I can. You think you're going to leave here and become some socialite with some pompous rich ass of a fiancé? Fuck, Faye," he whirled her around to face him, eyes wide and crazy, searching her face. His hands pressed on either side of her head as he pulled her towards him.

"Faye..." he moaned before crushing her mouth with his. Her legs were shaky and she was sure she was going to collapse. When she looked back up into his eyes, she saw that the pupil of the one good eye he had was dilated. Her eyes narrowed and focused on his mouth.

She wanted it on her again.

"I'll follow you. I'll sabotage this new life of yours so that you can't live without me..."

"You asshole..." she whispered.

**My hopes are so high  
That your kiss might kill me  
So won't you kill me  
So I die happy**

The door to Spike's room closed behind them and Spike fell against Faye and the wall. His mouth left hers for only a second while he pulled off Faye's pink sweater. He dropped it at her feet and she started undoing the buttons of his shirt before he got impatient and pulled the shirt back over his shoulders, only slightly dismayed that he may have ripped whatever buttons Faye hadn't gotten to. His mouth was suddenly hot and slick against the upper slope of Faye's breast. Her hands went to his hair, her fingers threading themselves tightly through his dark, thick curls.

"Maybe we should stop..." Faye gasped. One of his hands came back into sight. His thumb parted her lips and as he drew closer to their division for another kiss she touched the tip of her tongue lightly to his finger, tasting the salty flavour of his skin before biting mercilessly into it. Spike exhaled thickly, closed the distance between their waiting mouths.

"Do you want to stop?" he asked, eyes moist and hungry. He placed his hands on the wall, his groin connecting solidly with hers, and thrusted heavily. Faye's eyes squeezed shut, "_Fuck_..." she whispered.

He pulled back, not tearing his gaze from her closed eyes. He began tugging roughly at her pants to get them off of her. Finally she kicked her ankles free of them and he pulled one of her legs up around his waist, grounding himself into her slowly as she then struggled to get his own pants off.

"Is this going to hurt you?" she asked, remembering his still-healing injuries as she lightly touched the bandages around his middle.

"I hope so," he groaned.

**Lyrics from Pulp's _Seductive Barry_ and Dashboard Confessional's _Hands Down_ quoted. Please don't sue.**


	9. Where Do We Go Now But Nowhere?

**I remember a girl so bold and so bright  
Loose-limbed and laughing and brazen and bare  
Sits gnawing her knuckles in the chemical light  
O where do we go now but nowhere**

**In a colonial hotel we fucked up the sun  
And then we fucked it down again  
Well the sun comes up and the sun goes down  
Going round and round to nowhere**

Steak, onions, peppers and eggs.

I figured we all deserved a treat.

Ed ate hers up happily and licked the plate. Ein snuffled in his bowl and lapped up the scraps of meat. I watched them and wondered if they were back to stay. I tore at a piece of bread and waited for Spike and Faye to show up. For some reason, common courtesy came into play when there was food on the table. I didn't want to start eating without them.

I figured out in a roundabout way that Faye had ended up staying yesterday. I guessed that Spike figured out a way to keep her here. I was too embarrassed to continue any more thought on the subject.

Spike showed up first (as I knew he would). He had just showered and he wore a grungy towel around his waist. We were all in charge of doing our own laundry and you could only imagine how long it's been since Spike bothered to do his. I chuckled to myself as I thought about whether or not he bothered to wash his boxers or if he just turned them inside out and had both sides operate on shift work.

"What's the occasion?" Spike asked, picking up his plate and holding it close to his face. He started shovelling in the food before I even began my answer.

"Money. That's the occasion. So the woman's back, huh?"

Spike nodded and slurped up a long piece of red pepper that had been hanging from his lips.

"Yeah. But she's going again. She's going to meet this sister we keep hearing about."

"Are you going with her?" I had to ask. I chewed the bread in my mouth slowly. I was still waiting for Faye to sit down for breakfast. Damn my mother for bringing me up this way.

Spike nodded again, "Yeah. Just in case something's up with this whole thing. It could be a set-up of some sort."

"Sure it could," I smirked. A blush quickly passed over Spike's face. It was only for a second but it was there when he met my eyes. He looked down quickly when the broad finally entered the room. I didn't waste any time. I forked a large hunk of steak into my mouth.

"Wow. Is that steak?" Faye sat down next to me and tore off a piece of bread to dip in her eggs.

I can't tell you how good it felt to have everyone in the room again. And happy, for two.

"Hey!" Spike muffled, his cheeks stretched to the max with food. "She has more steak than me!"

"That's because I just started eating, idiot," Faye replied. I tried to ignore the marks on her shoulders and thought about how glad I was that things hadn't seemed to change that much.

_Except for the better._

Across the room, the vid-screen blipped and Ed skipped over to it, hitting a key. The monitor buzzed and I heard a familiar voice say, "You must be Jet's son."

"Ed is Ed."

I wandered over to Ed's side, minding to bring my plate along with me in case Spike got any ideas. The voice belonged to Ana.

"Oh, hey!" she smiled, "Glad I found you!"

I glanced back at Spike and Faye who seemed to be fascinated that a girl wanted to speak to me.

"Do you have some information for me?"

"No. I just wanted to bask in the warmth of your smile," she replied sarcastically, laughing. I felt my face getting hot.

"Yes, Jet. I've got some info for you. I did some digging around and I found out who's financing the film."

"You mean it isn't the Spectors?"

"No. It's the Gate Corporation." I was suddenly aware of Faye and Spike watching Ana over my shoulders.

"The Gate Corporation? Why would they be financing something like this?"

Ana shrugged her shoulders. "Couldn't tell ya. I'll see if I can get anything else from the rest of the crew. Ana out," she grinned and saluted me before disappearing from the screen.

_The Gate Corporation?_

**Lyrics quoted from Nick Cave's _Where Do We Go Now But Nowhere? _ Don't sue, please.**


	10. FEELING CALLED LOVE

**The room is cold  
and has been like this for several months.  
If I close my eyes I can visualize everything in it  
right down to the broken handle  
on the third drawer down of the dressing table.  
And the world outside this room has also assumed a familiar shape:  
the same events shuffled in a slightly different order each day.  
Just like a modern shopping centre.**

**And it's so cold.**

**And as I stand and cross the room  
I feel as if my whole life has been leading to this one moment.  
And as I touch your shoulder tonight  
this room has become the centre of the entire universe.**

* * *

Pain and ecstasy. 

A sensation, like burning, all over her skin.

She was careful not to hurt him. Lips and limbs danced delicately across the bandages. But she smiled in spite of herself whenever he bit back a gasp. There was still power to be had. He seemed to know this, too, as though he'd read her mind. His arm stiffened along the small of her back with the tensing of muscles. With a grunt he pulled her to his side and quickly replaced himself above her.

"...inside me..." she whispered.

Their mouths found every bit of exposed skin. They hadn't bothered to take the time to undress eachother properly. One shoe still clung stubbornly to Faye's foot dangling over the side of the mattress and Spike had given up shaking off the leg of his trousers still bunched up around his ankle. He still wore his boxers. It was a miracle he'd been able to get his boots off. Once the scent of her had suitably invaded the whole of his mind, he couldn't get inside her fast enough.

Don't say--

"...I love you..."

"Don't say it," he whispered. His tongue dipped into her navel, his teeth found the soft, white flesh of her inner thigh, mercilessly biting into it. He reached for and kissed the fingers she'd had in his hair and she had to look away. It was too much like the dreams. In the back of her mind she feared waking up later and realizing none of this had happened. He raised his eyes to meet hers but remained silent, the only real sound was the grating of heavy breath against bones they passed along the way.

_He wouldn't be able to say it back_, she thought to herself. _He doesn't want to hurt me._

"I understand," she said but made sure to put pressure on his still-healing wounds any chance she got, sighing its resulting pleasure between her lips and the onslaught of his.

**

* * *

**

**I do not own the lyrics to Pulp's _F.E.E.L.I.N.G. C.A.L.L.E.D. L.O.V.E._**


	11. Lover

If you'd asked, she wouldn't be able to tell you how standing outside of the rundown apartment building that housed her sister felt. Spike checked the address over and over again wondering where the palatial grounds that served as a less-than-humble home for the Spectors lay. Faye was almost wondering that same thing herself. But the uneasiness she felt concerned itself with something entirely different.

_Family._

She still couldn't believe she was here and it felt as though gnarled little hands were knotting up her stomach.

"I'm going in with you," Spike said firmly. Faye waved a hand at him, "It's okay. I'll go in alone."

She took a few unsteady steps up the walkway towards the front entrance.

"Did you bring your gun?"

Faye had to laugh at that, "I'm visiting my sister. Granted, I'm not accustomed to visiting family but I'm sure bringing a bottle of wine or a basket of cookies is more appropriate." She didn't see Spike's reaction to that comment. She was already pulling one of the doors open and approaching the security desk, cradling a small bouquet of flowers in her free arm.

"Um...Faye Valen...Spector...Faye Spector here to see Ms..." she stammered but was mercifully cut off by the white-haired, old man in a faded blue guard's uniform.

"Just go on up."

"You're doing a top-notch job, sir!" Spike saluted the security guard rather sarcastically as he caught up to Faye.

"Okay. You can visit your sister. But I'm going to stand out in the hall in case something comes up. I've got a bad feeling about this. And she's not my family so I wasn't shy bringing my gun along."

"Big man and a gun," Faye said under her breath as she pushed the button for the elevator to take them up to the fourth floor.

The ride up was quiet. Spike hadn't mentioned anything about the other day. In typical old-world,girl fashion Faye wondered silently if the whole thing that had happened between them meant they were dating now. He hadn't touched her or attempted to be alone with her since. But she was terribly flattered by his concern for her safety in this particular situation. She wasn't sure how far she would have gotten with meeting her sister if it wasn't for his company. Or for his gun's.

_Same thing, right?_

* * *

_She looks nice._

He didn't say anything as they went up in the elevator. His eyes flicked back and forth from Faye in her little black dress to the red numbers counting up to four on the wall.

_I should probably say something about how she looks_, he thought to himself.

"Jesus, I'm hungry," he said instead. _Where the hell did that come from? Way to go_. Mentally, Spike slapped himself in the forehead. He looked up and Faye was staring at him with mean, narrowed eyes. It wasn't what she was expecting him to say either, apparently.

_Ding!_

_Thank friggin' God,_ he thought with relief.

He sauntered out into the hallway, forgetting his manners and cutting Faye off. He heard her irritated sigh behind him.

"Okay...you can wait here for me."

Spike was already leaning against the wall under the no smoking sign with his lighter and a cigarette in his hand. "Holler if you need me," he waved at her retreating figure.

_Lover..._

* * *

"Who are these people? Your folks?" 

"Yeah. It was taken a couple of anniversaries ago."

"Weird."

Julia wandered over from her little kitchen with two mugs of coffee in tow. She sat on the end of the bed next to Spike who was lying back and examining the framed picture on her nightstand.

"Coffee's ready. What's weird?"

"I don't know. Parents."

"What? That I have parents? What do you think? I rode in from the sea on a giant clam?" she smirked as Spike sat up and relieved Julia of one of the coffees.

"I don't know...I just didn't think you had any family. You never mention them."

"Well, I mean my mom and I don't exchange recipes over the phone on a daily basis or anything like that, but we talk occasionally."

Spike looked back over his shoulder at the photograph. Julia sipped at her coffee.

"I take it you don't speak to your parents."

"Nah. No reason for it. They did their thing and I did mine. I had an okay childhood. I just reached that age where I wanted to be on my own."

"Yeah, but..." Julia leaned on an elbow and drew some of her hair back from her forehead, "it's got nothing to do with independence or being on your own. I mean it's just...well, no one's really on their own. That would be kind of sad."

Spike looked at her quite seriously, "I'm on my own, Julia. I've been on my own for a long time. I'm happy. Well...as happy as I expect to..."

"C'mon, Spike. You're not on your own. Not really. I mean there's the brothers and Annie and Mao and..."

"Vicious," Spike muttered.

Julia leaned over and pressed her forehead to his. "I was going to say 'me'. But for the record, yeah. I think Vicious has been around for you, too."

Spike pulled back and stood up. He walked across the room, making sure to avoid the window in case he had been followed. He leaned against the counter in her tiny kitchen area. Julia lay back on the bed holding the steaming mug over her stomach.

"He cares for you, Spike. He does. You're his friend. You're not like the others."

He couldn't look at her. Vicious _was_ his friend. What the fuck was he doing with this woman? A better question would be what was she doing with _him_? Up until a few weeks ago she was sleeping with his best friend.

Vicious hadn't done anything wrong and yet the deeper Spike got with Julia, the more he began to feel contempt for his friend brewing in the pit of his stomach. Whenever his name fell on his lover's lips, he felt ill.

"I wasn't in love with him," Julia explained wearily. Her voice wobbled, "I never meant for this to happen, Spike. You must think I'm such a whore..."

"Fuck, Julia! I don't think you're a whore but come on! What the fuck are you doing? You must have a deathwish! Christ..." Spike turned and gripped the counter with frustration. "How am I supposed to protect you when they find out?" A dry sob escaped him, "They'll kill you, Julia. They'll fucking murder you. They'll off me first and I won't be able to..."

"Spike..." Julia moaned as she flew across the room and drew her arms around him tightly.

* * *

Faye knocked gently on the door and waited. It seemed like years before the door opened as far as the thin chain allowed. 

"Yes?"a tiny voice addressed Faye. Faye leaned in and tried to see behind the small figure into the apartment.

"Um...my name is Faye..."

The door slammed shut almost catching Faye's nose in it. Faye wondered if she should knock again or turn and leave before realizing that the woman was just removing the chain. The door opened wide.

"Faye..." The woman breathed as she stared at the girl standing in the middle of the hallway. She reached out a small, delicate hand and Faye flinched slightly as the fingers brushed against her cheek. "Oh, God..." the woman whispered.

Faye looked closely at the woman, trying to see a bit of herself in her weathered face.

"Are you...?" she began.

The old woman's eyes became glassy with tears, "...your little sister."


	12. Head To Your Toes

Note: People wrote in to me that they were confused by the placement of this chapter. It's simply meant to be a flashback to the time Spike and Faye shared together. I'm sorry if it threw anyone off! :) Nothing's been skipped! Faye is still visiting her sister and Spike is still waiting in the hallway for her! :)

  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  


It's a beautiful road from your head to your toes, I will travel it with my fingers barely touching.  
It's a sight to behold from your head to your toes,  
I will worship it with kisses and cheap wine.

What do you want with me, now you've seen me at my worst?  
What do you want with me, can't you see it's absurd?  
I have nothing to offer but a small selfish heart.  
But I love you from your head to your toes, I do.

It's a valley, so divine, at the base of your spine.  
Sometimes I rest there and wish.  
We've a nest here to build, we have memories to kill,  
Let's waste some time for a while. 

What do you want with me, since you've seen I've been bad.  
What do you want with me, can't you see it's so sad?  
I have nothing to offer but a small selfish heart.  
But I love you from your head to your toes, I do.

  
  
  
  


Sheets creased and moist, underlining her white creamy skin. He couldn't touch her without wanting to press his fingers hard enough into her flesh that their two bodies fused together as a result. The bruises on her body had bloomed into blues and mauves like flowers on a summer dress. His fingers hummed, hovering over the marks he had left on her shoulder.

  
  


He sat on the end of the bed in his towel, raking a second towel over his wet hair. He watched her sleeping. He hadn't bothered to put any dressing on his wounds, leaving them open and cooling with the stale air that circulated the ship. He examined them as he dried himself off after his shower. He was aware of new sores on his back, grooves he was certain were born from her fingernails. There was a small mark on his chest where she had pressed her teeth into him.

  
  


"Was it me the whole time?" She asked. His eyes had been closed. He had already rolled into the small space remaining on the tiny bed. They lay side by side without touching each other. She was turned towards the wall and her voice was small and scared. He didn't blame her. He had shouted and sworn at her so many times over the past month. He felt bad about it and wanted to reach out and stroke her hair. But something about that touch would have been more intimate than anything they'd shared the past few hours and he wasn't quite ready for that.

  
  


Over the course of the past few hours Faye had become many different people. Julia, Vicious...his head had been swimming. Faye was a canvas and he splattered different emotions across the white expanse of her flesh. Hate, lust, sorrow...but he was always aware of the presence of Faye. Her mouth and hands moving over muscles, through veins. Inwardly thanking her for becoming his release. He needed this so badly.

  
  


And when there was nowhere else to move but inside her, he fought tears that threatened to spring to his eyes. 

  
  


He stiffened and groaned and his eyes inadvertently met those of the girl beneath him.

  
  


Faye.

  
  


This was a mistake. At first he had thought that he had managed to kill Julia all over again. But as he watched the tears balancing in the corners of her eyes, he realized the one he was killing was the girl he held now.

  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  


I do not own the lyrics to Hefner's 'Your Head to Your Toes' ....

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	13. Ruins

**It's so quiet in the ruins  
Walking though the old town  
Stones crumbling under my feet  
I see smoke for miles around  
It's enough to make you weep  
All that remains of the main street  
Up in the park on Sunday  
Dogs chasing and the children played**

**So nice to see you coming back in this town again  
It's nice to see a friendly face come peeping through  
You'd better know what you're going through now  
You came back here to find your home is a black horizon  
That you don't recognize**

* * *

"Is any of this coming back to you, dear?" Beatrice set down a tray of biscuits and tea on the coffee table while Faye filed through photo albums and yearbooks trying to spark memories. 

"Some of it..." Faye replied softly. "This is William, right?" She asked, pointing at a tall, dark-haired young man in a military uniform.

Beatrice sat down beside Faye and pulled her glasses down to the end of her nose, leaning towards the photo Faye referred to. "Yes. That's William. He was very handsome, wasn't he?"

My brother.

Faye stroked the sweep of black hair that fell from below the cap he wore. "How did he die?"

"He had a massive stroke a few years ago. His wife died only three months later. I haven't seen his son since the funerals. Do you recognize the boy in the next picture?" Beatrice looked over her glasses at Faye and smiled slightly.

Faye only had to glance at the photograph for a second. "Ezekiel..." she whispered. He was standing next to Faye. Both were in their uniforms and he had an arm casually draped around her shoulders. She leaned into him and looked as though she had been laughing when the photo was taken.

"You remember him?"

"No..." Faye's hands began to shake and she stood and wandered over to the window, pressing her hand to her mouth and squeezing her eyes shut. "I'm sorry...I don't mean to be so..."

Beatrice placed the photo album on the coffee table next to the tea set and went to her sister. She reached out a hand and touched Faye's shoulder, "No, dear. You have nothing to be sorry about. I can't imagine how difficult this must be for you. Perhaps I shouldn't have tried to find you. Maybe you would have been better off..."

"No. Don't say that. I know you can't tell from looking at me, from the way I've been acting the past hour...but I'm glad you found me. Really..." Faye took a deep breath and returned to her spot on the couch. Beatrice returned to her own place and put a comforting hand on Faye's knee.

Faye replaced the album in her lap and looked at the picture again. "What happened to him?"

Beatrice shrugged her shoulders slightly and shook her head. "I don't know. After the accident we didn't really keep in touch. When it first happened he would call almost every other day to find out how you were. But there was no change for so long...I think he gave up hope. And then the band he was in got a record contract. They were a big deal for a while, you know? I'm not quite sure what happened to him after that."

"He was a musician?"

"He played bass. The band was called 'Nadsat' or something like that...It's been a while since I've even thought about Ezekiel," Beatrice took a teacup in her hands and sipped quietly, "You know, he was crazy about you."

Faye was still shaking slightly when she put the photo album aside. She needed to change the subject. She took the second cup of tea between her palms and stared into it. She took a deep breath.

"What was our father like?" she asked tentatively. She had been wondering since she had that dream about the doll. Beatrice's lips parted in a smile not unlike ones Faye had familiarized herself with in the past when she would confront her reflection in a mirror. Before so many things had fucked her up.

"He was a wonderful man. He spoiled us although we wouldn't have thought it at the time. But now that I look back...Oh, Faye...if only you could remember him. He was..." Beatrice's eyes welled up and she pressed her fingers to her lips, "Oh, dear...now I've started up..." she chuckled through her tears and reached for a handkerchief from her pocket, dabbing her eyes with it. "After you had been taken from us...it was...it was like the beginning of the end..." Beatrice looked away from Faye.

Faye sat silently, trying to decipher the meaning of that last sentence. "I don't want to ask...because it's rude. I know it is and I'm sorry...but...what happened to all the money? There were rumours going around that the Spectors were very wealthy. And I remember a house..."

Beatrice nodded, "Dad worked for the Gate Corporation. He was on the board of directors. We were quite well off. It's true. But there was a scandal...I'm not certain of the details...I was still very young when it happened and Mum and Dad kept it from us. I guess they didn't want to frighten us. Dad lost his job and there were lawsuits. Slowly we began to lose everything. He was a wreck all those years. And, of course, you had been in the accident. He had already handled that quite badly..." Beatrice stared down at her hands as they pulled at the handkerchief they held.

Faye felt her heart in her throat, threatening to choke her to death. The beautiful man in her dreams...

"When William found him he wasn't even recognizable. They had to identify him with fingerprints. Mum was at work and William had just come home, visiting from university. He never told us what he saw. He was never the same after..." Beatrice shook gently with sobs and Faye moved closer to her, taking the tiny woman in her arms and rocking slowly back and forth, back and forth.

"Beatrice..." Faye whispered.

* * *

**Lyrics from Cat Stevens'_ Ruins_ were used. Don't sue, please.**


	14. She Said She Said

Dolls. About fifty of them lining the walls of the small beige room. Beatrice held the door open for Faye who walked through with the tentative steps of a cat.

"I kept them. They had been in storage until my Laura left for university. This used to be her room."

"These were all mine?" Faye asked, wide-eyed as she examined a particular doll she believed to be the one she had seen in her dreams. Lily. The one her father had given her. She leaned towards the shelves that housed the dolls, looking into the dark, dead eyes in their porcelain skulls.

"Dad would go away on business trips and bring you back a doll every single time," Beatrice smiled sadly. She picked up one of the dolls and fingered the red curls on her head.

"You kept them all this time?" Faye looked over at her sister.

"I knew you'd come back. It sounds silly butI knew it." Beatrice placed the red-haired doll back on the shelf and took one of Faye's hands into the two of her own. Faye, unaccustomed to such affection, shivered slightly before pulling away and wandering out of the little room.

"I...I have to go..." Faye said. She turned back to face her sister on reaching the main room and gazed at her apologetically. "I'll come back, though. I will. I'm just...I'm just so tired..." she raised a hand to her face and felt the heat there.

Beatrice nodded, "Yes, dear. I understand. It's been a lot to take in, hasn't it? But before you go..." She turned back down the hallway, disappearing into what was assumed to be her bedroom. She returned holding a compact disc in her hands. She gently placed it in Faye's.

Faye gazed at the small gift.

_Nadsat._

She unsurely opened the crystal case, drawing out the liner notes. On unfolding the paper, she examined the collage of photos inside. Different pictures of the different members of the band. And there, wearing a Green Hornet t-shirt with a bass guitar resting on his lap, was Ezekiel. His long and thin fingers wrapped around the neck of the instrument, a crooked grin on his face.

He looked so much like Spike.

Or, rather, Spike looked so much like him.

Faye stood silently staring at the photos for so long, she figured she may have been beginning to worry Beatrice.

"I just thought that you might want to know what happened to him," she said. "He became something, Faye. And I think you had a lot to do with that. I don't want you to feel like what happened with Dad...I don't want you to feel like it was your fault."

"I have to go," Faye said, coming back to life and tripping over the rug in the small foyer before tearing open the door. She pulled the door closed fiercely behind her and ran several steps down the hallway. She suddenly realized that she had passed the spot where Spike had said he would remain waiting for her. She looked down towards both ends of the hallway and saw nothing.

Spike had left the building.

When Faye arrived at the Bebop once more, Spike was nowhere to be found.

She made her way down the corridor, stopping to poke her head into Jet's workshop. Jet was snipping carefully at one of his bonsai trees.

"Hey," she said. Jet acknowledged her presence with a nod, not turning his focus away from his work. "Do we have a compact disc player?"

"Nope," he replied, distracted by his work. Faye continued down the hallway, turning into her room.

On entering, she was aware of the presence of another in the dark. She flicked on the small desk lamp on the small stool that served as a nightstand and turned to find that Spike was sitting on the end of her bed. His back was to her. He moved his head slightly in her direction but didn't quite look at her.

"Hey..." he said by way of greeting, clearing his throat. Faye watched him silently. She struggled to feel something, to sense that something was wrong, for clearly there was. She couldn't feel it but he was sitting here in her room. He had left her at the apartment building. It didn't take a genius to figure out that...

"I think we...I think we made a mistake," he said, voice a touch above a whisper.

Faye shook her head feeling her heart seize behind her ribs, "No..."

Spike stood abruptly and shoved his hands into his pockets. Storming past her he muttered, "Well, then _I_ made a mistake."

* * *


	15. Waterbaby

**Your heart is served cold  
Your sights are set in perfect stone  
And when you go  
You go alone  
And when you stand  
You're on your own**

**I wash the streets from your skin when you come home  
We're nothing like friends  
You have no time to lend  
And if you're guilt then I'm the shame  
And if I'm hurt then you're the blame**

Why Faye hadn't yet put a bullet through her skull was quite beyond her. The pros were presently outweighing the cons. It seemed she had brought nothing but misery to all those whose lives she touched. She thought that she was beginning to make Spike happy. They both needed it so badly. What did she do to fuck it up?

She tossed the compact disc onto her bed and dropped to the floor, drawing her knees up to her chin. This whole movie thing. Was it ever going to be sorted out? They seemed to be going around in circles. Small circles, at that. And, of course, all the roads seemed to lead back to Faye.

And her father. The kind, handsome man in her dreams. The trauma she brought on her family. Ezekiel...

She was strong, but she was tired. And people all around her were suffering. She wasn't as lucky as Spike who probably had people lined up around the corner waiting to shoot him. Even the other bounty hunters didn't want to shoot Faye. They wanted that six million woolong on her head. It was the only thing making her worth anything. She turned and slipped a hand under her pillow, drawing out her gun.

Feeling the weight of the weapon in her hand made her mortality far more real. But she sat there for a moment and stared at the gun until it was a fuzzy, black mass of pixels. She sobered and stood. She had some things to do first.

Faye let the gun hang at her side, dangling from her fingers as she made her way down the corridor and back into the main room. It was empty.

She didn't want to wait for an audience. She feared time would only allow her further thought on the subject and she didn't want to think anymore.

She cried out, "She's dead! She's fucking dead!" She hadn't meant to address her final words to Spike, but they spilled out uncontrollably. She didn't even realize how large a part of the hurt inside her was tangled up with him. Apparently far more than she knew.

"She's dead! And if she's somewhere wanting you to be alone for the rest of your life, then she's a selfish bitch! And frankly..." Faye raised the gun to her head, pressing it into her temple, "...I'm a selfish bitch, too." She whispered.

"Faye!" She whirled around to face the corridor. Jet was standing in the hallway. "Faye...what are you doing?" His voice stumbled over the words. Clearly he was trying to find the right tone of voice to speak to her with. He finally settled on a stern, fatherly tone. But his eyes, she could see, although he was quite a ways down the corridor, were wide with worry. The gun wobbled in her hand. He was always so good to her. She was definitely a selfish bitch. But she knew this wasn't news to any of her crewmates.

"Jet..." She whispered. She smiled slightly and tears on her cheek were hot and thick as they ran down her face.

She closed her eyes and steadied the gun against her temple.

Moments later she felt as though every bone in her body had shattered and every last bit of oxygen had been pulled from her lungs. But the pain clearly signified that she was still alive. When she opened her eyes she was staring at the ceiling of the main room. She had fallen down the stairs. Or had been thrown.

Or pushed.

She lay there, disoriented, while her gun returned fiercely to the side of her head. Her other hand wrapped around a second gun and when the confusion had dispelled she realized that Spike was on top of her holding her gun to her own head, while he pressed his own gun into her other hand and held the barrel to his jaw.

"Spike..."

"Come on, Faye. We'll do it at the same time. 3...2...1..."

"Spike!" She screamed.

She heard a click and then Spike's heavy breathing. Her eyes had been squeezed shut, but they opened slightly and focused on Spike's face. He didn't look at her. He tossed her hands from his own, the guns clattering noisily against the floor, and untangled himself from her. Behind him Faye could see Jet standing at the top of the stairs, a mixture of fear and relief struggling against one another in his face.

She wanted to beg for his forgiveness, hating herself for making Jet so concerned for her, but she had nary a chance to free the words from her dizzy skull before she was lifted from the ground by the front of her dress and dragged back up the stairs. Spike pulled her viciously down the corridor, and then another and out into the hangar. He practically threw her to the ground, kneeling in front of her and grabbing her by the throat. He pressed her back into the wall.

"You listen to me. Don't you _ever_ do that to Jet again! You hear me?" He brought the hand around her neck to his hair, pressing his head into his fingers. Faye watched him carefully. She had failed in suicide only to be murdered by Spike.

"Spike..." she whispered hoarsely, wondering absently if he'd managed to crush her windpipe.

Spike's shoulders were shaking and the lower half of his face was covered by his large hand. She could see his eyes, scintillating with the red light that bled into the open hangar from the setting sun. Shining with...

He was crying. Not making any sound. No clues aside from the rattling of his thin body and the welling up of his eyes.

Faye felt her heart breaking.

She had made him cry.

"Don't you ever do that to me again," he said. He got to his feet and walked slowly back to the entrance of the ship.

He didn't turn to look at her once.

**Thanks for the song lyrics to the Sneaker Pimps' _Waterbaby_... You know who you are.**


	16. I Blew A Fuse In My Personality

**Cat's got my tongue.  
Giving me a nose bleed  
I took yours  
****Now take mine  
Broken nose  
****And a black eye**

* * *

Spike's hands shook as he reached for Jet's stash of cigarettes on top of the fridge. He tried to light one as it balanced between his dry lips but his body rattled and in his frustration he crumpled the cigarette between his fingers instead. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead against the cool surface of the fridge. 

The inside of his skull suddenly lit up like a hundred fireworks going off in his head when he was whipped around and slammed back against the refrigerator door.

Jet's large hand pinned Spike in place by his shoulder. He leaned in so that their noses were almost touching. His eyes were angry slits as he regarded Spike with a look of contempt he'd never witnessed Jet to bestow on even his most loathesome bounties.

"What's your game?" he growled, breath heavy with the redolence of past cigarettes smoked. Spike's eyes were wide with shock and an underlying feeling of betrayal. He'd never been on this end of an attack from Jet and he wasn't even sure yet why. Although he had his theories.

"I did it for you," he said quietly. Jet grabbed him by his collar, dragging him off the ground with two hands. Spike felt the fridge tilt back against the wall with his weight.

"Bullshit!" Jet spat. "Do you get off on it? Do you get off on hurting her? Why are you fucking with her head?"

Spike brought his hands up and tried to pry Jet's fingers from his jacket. Jet responded to Spike's delay in answer by bouncing him off the fridge again and again.

"Why are you fucking with her head!" Each word was punctuated with the sound of Spike's head hitting the refrigerator door.

"Why is she fucking with_my_ head?" Spike shouted, finally breaking free from Jet's grip by bending his knees and kicking himself out of his grasp. Now free, Spike lashed out at Jet, pushing him back against the counter.

"She's in here, Jet!" Spike cried, pressing a finger to his head. "She's in here and I feel it..." Spike took a deep breath and his voice dropped to almost a whisper, "Every time I...fuck, Jet...she's always in my fucking head...It's wrong, Jet." Jet leaned back on the counter across from Spike and ran a hand across his scalp.

"Why?" he asked.

Spike raised a hand to his hair, unconsciously mimicking Jet's movements. He shook his head, turning away from him. He took several steps towards the door but Jet grabbed him by his shoulder again, pulling him back to his spot in front of the fridge.

"It's none of your business," Spike said tiredly. "_The hell it's not!_" Jet snapped. "This is_my_ fucking ship. I'm tired of tip-toeing around you, Spike. I'm tired of all these secrets, all these...landmines. _Now spill!_"

Spike's eyes shifted ceiling-ward and he sighed a sickly sigh. He said nothing.

"Are you in love with her?" Jet asked as he released his hold on Spike. Spike didn't answer. He nodded, his eyes still fixed on a spot on the ceiling.

"The bruises..." Jet began, uncomfortably.

"It only happened once," he mouthed the words more than spoke them. Jet shifted his weight from one leg to the other, an air of awkwardness about him.

"She has a good heart, Spike, if nothing else..."

"I know. But she isn't..."

"...I know."

* * *

**Lyrics used from Hot Hot Heat's _I Blew A Fuse In My Personality_. Don't sue, please?**


	17. Baby, the rain must fall

"Faye-faye!" Ed cried out, not turning away from her monitor as she tap- tap-tapped away on the keyboard, cheerfully oblivious to the heavy veil of tension in the room.  
  
Faye had been tentatively approaching the main room, afraid of having another run-in with Spike. When she saw them all sitting around the computer she let out the breath she'd been holding. She straightened her little black dress across her shoulders and tossed her hair.  
  
"Don't call me that." She said haughtily, trying to regain a sense of normalcy. The old Faye.  
  
Faye Valentine.  
  
She walked down the steps with a slight grimace. She guessed she'd twisted her ankle when she had fallen down the stairs. Oh, wait. She had been pushed.  
  
"What's going on? What are you guys looking at?" She asked, approaching the huddle Jet, Spike and Ed formed.  
  
Jet didn't look away from the screen. "Ana said the Gate Corporation was financing the film. We're trying to find the connection. We had thought originally it was the Spectors fronting the bill." He paused, finally looking away from the screen, but not directly at Faye. "We're gonna figure this movie thing out. Together."  
  
Faye nodded. Jet had some peace and quiet coming to him. She glanced over at Spike who continued to stare glassy-eyed over Ed's shoulder at the information flashing across the monitor at lightening speed as the girl shuffled through it all bent on a mission.  
  
Thirty minutes later, Faye had made herself some coffee and was seated in the armchair sipping at it greedily. Spike was lying across the couch staring up at the ceiling fan. Jet sat determinedly next to Ed, keeping his eyes on the screen.  
  
"Ding! Ding! Ding!" Ed finally whipped her goggles off her head and swung them in the air. Faye looked up from the dark vortex in her coffee mug.  
  
"Spector, Niall." Jet said.  
  
"Niall..." Faye whispered, lips moving ever-so-slightly.  
  
"Your father, I presume. He worked for the Gate Corporation?"  
  
Faye immediately felt like an idiot. She could have saved themselves all this waiting. Bea had mentioned to her that their father had worked for the Gate Corporation. She had become so wrapped up in this haze of self- pity that she completely forgot. She looked up apologetically at Jet.  
  
"Yeah. He was on the board of directors." Ed was whooping and dancing about the room, tossing her goggles up into the air and catching them. Spike sighed with irritation as she did so. She danced out of the room still singing, "Ding! Ding! Ding!" Jet took her place in front of the keyboard, typing with two fingers.  
  
"Let's see what Mr. Spector has to tell us." He said, smiling and happy to be absorbed in some sort of assignment again. They might actually be getting somewhere.  
  
Faye sat back in her chair and sipped at her coffee again. She wondered if she should tell Jet what happened to her father or if she should just let him find out for himself. Play dumb. She wasn't so sure the words wouldn't catch in her throat if she did indeed decide to speak them out loud.  
  
Jet sat back suddenly. The sharp movement caused Faye to stir slightly.  
  
"Faye..." He said. He hadn't spoken her name to get her attention. There was the slightest hint of pity in his voice. It seems she didn't have to say anything after all. And much sooner than she thought. She hadn't a terribly great amount of experience with computers so she was briefly impressed with how quickly someone could dredge up information on a person's entire life.  
  
"I know." She said quietly. Spike's interest had been piqued by this little exchange and he brought himself up onto his elbows and looked at the screen.  
  
"Why the bounty?" He asked.  
  
"What?" Faye flew to Jet's side.  
  
"A bounty. On your father. Embezzlement." Jet kept typing.  
  
Faye sat down beside him. The scandal that Bea had mentioned. The one that ruined her family. The one that...  
  
"Jesus Christ..." Jet suddenly whispered. Faye turned her head back to the monitor before Jet could warn her not to look.  
  
Police photos. She recognized his hands at first. The ones from her dream. The ones that held the doll out to her. Lily. As her eyes roved over the photograph she was to discover it was the only thing that she could recognize.  
  
"When William found him he wasn't even recognizable. They had to identify him with fingerprints." Faye recalled her sister's voice relating the tale to her. Struggling to bite back sobs, causing her fragile weathered body to shudder. Faye had held her and rocked her.  
  
Back and forth. Back and forth.  
  
Half of his face was missing. As though he were drawn up on a blackboard and someone came along with an eraser and swept half his skull away. "Fuck! How do you turn this thing off?" Jet barked. He had been using this computer for years but his mind went completely blank as he fumbled to shut it off. Finally, he grabbed the system up in his arms and threw it across the room. Faye stared dumbly at the space her father had occupied only moments before.  
  
Something snapped in her. But this time it snapped off instead of on. She would have felt relief if she could have felt anything at all.  
  
Another strange thing had happened although she wasn't even aware of it at the time. Spike had left his place on the couch. His arms were wrapped around her protectively. No doubt trying to shield her from the distressing image of her father. But Faye didn't notice this as she extricated herself from his embrace. She walked across the room and up the stairs. She paused and turned when she reached the top.  
  
"You should be nicer to that computer. You're gonna need it if we're gonna figure out this movie thing." She smiled slightly as she said it, then continued on her way down the corridor leaving Spike and Jet staring after her and silently mourning the death of a man they never knew.  
***  
  
"Why are you crying?"  
  
She knew it was Daddy. He had this scent...a cologne or aftershave of some sort and she had never known it's name. Why would she have cared at that point? He would always be there. The scent. Even in dreams it became tangible. It was rich and velvety between her fingers but thinner than air when she tried to grab hold of it.  
  
"It breaks my heart..."  
  
"Oh, Daddy..." Faye buried her head in her pillow, closing her arms around it. If she'd known what little time she and her father had left she would have forgotten the pillow entirely...  
  
She was aware of the music downstairs filtering through the screen door from her backyard. She could smell burning charcoal. A barbecue. She could hear splashing and shrieking. Children playing in the pool. Her sister. Bea.  
  
"Come downstairs, honey. Bea will start to miss you in a bit."  
  
"No!" Faye cried. She pulled the pillow closer and curled further up into the corner of the bed. "I hate her! I hate her! I never want to see her again!"  
  
She felt the mattress sink slightly beneath the weight of her father as he sat down. "You shouldn't say such things. She's your sister." "I HATE her!" Faye sobbed again.  
  
"Why is that?" She felt his hand on her elbow, drawing her slowly, gently, from the make-shift shell of the pillow to his side. She pressed her face to his knee. He stroked her hair.  
  
"She reads my letters. I have no secrets. Nothing is mine." She shook gently. Her voice was softer. It was hard to shout in front of her father. Not when he was touching her the way he was. Again, she was not aware of it at the time, but in a mere matter of years she would begin a new life where she would never know a touch like this again.  
  
"Your letters?"  
  
"From Ezek..." She stopped, embarrassed. Her face was hot, but this time it wasn't from anger. She glanced up at her father's face. She couldn't see him properly from this angle but she sensed he was smiling.  
  
"From Ezekiel..." He said, prompting her to continue despite her utter humiliation at having to discuss such a thing with her father.  
  
"Yeah." She whispered.  
  
"You have secrets."  
  
"Is that bad?" She asked.  
  
"Well..." Her father paused to move his daughter into a sitting position. He put his arm around her and she lay her head against his chest. "It depends on the secret." Another thoughtful pause. "Secrets can be good. You're a good girl and I'm sure you have nothing but good secrets. And it's alright to have those."  
  
"She reads my letters. My secrets. I hide them but she always finds them." She explained.  
  
"You need a better hiding place." Her father chuckled. Faye scowled.  
  
"Can I get a lock for my door?" She asked, suddenly hopeful.  
  
"Honey...if you lock your door you're hiding far more than your secrets."  
  
Faye closed her eyes and her father brushed back some of her hair and tucked it behind her ear.  
  
"You just need a better hiding place." 


	18. Where Have All The Good People Gone?

**Oh the Milky Way  
Has gone a little sour  
The leaves dried  
And the flower fell away  
I've been sitting  
I've been waiting for a sign  
Inhuman beings  
Taking up all of my time  
Want to leave  
But I've got to stay  
Where have all the good people gone?**

* * *

Ed was hanging from the rafters.

Quite literally.

She had been dancing through the corridors celebrating her latest demonstration of technological genius. She may have been celebrating the time before that. Or the time before that. She might have been celebrating her sixth birthday when she got a purple hippopotamus soap dish with a suction cup on the back so she could stick it up in her room and keep her little collection of stray hairs in it.

Who knows? There were so many things to celebrate.

"Ding! Ding! Ding!" she sang and caught her goggles simultaneously whirling about as they seemed to barely brush the very tips of her fingers before soaring back up to the sky.

Ed held out her hands but the goggles never made their way back to her waiting hands. She looked up at the ceiling.

"Hello?" she called. She stood up on the tips of her toes, "Hello? What goes up must come down!" She said sternly, hands on her hips.

Ed suddenly spotted the goggles. Their descent had been interrupted by one of the pipes that lined the dark ceiling of the corridor.

"Ah-ha! The game is afoot!" she said, pointing a finger menacingly at the goggles.

In a matter of moments Ed had managed to scale the sheer surface of the wall with the adeptness of a housefly. She shimmied across the pipe with outstretched fingers towards the waiting, green-tinted goggles.

"You will be mine!" she whispered. And then, "Hah!" The elastic snapped around her head, the goggles making a _thunk_ sound as they connected with her face. Ed basked in her triumph for a moment.

"Ding! Ding! Ding!" she said quietly to herself. She suddenly heard footsteps. She hooked the backs of her legs around the pipe as her torso free-fell into the path of Ms. Faye-Valentine-Spector-Valentine-Spector as she walked briskly to her room.

"Faye-Faye!" Ed grinned. Faye blinked as though reacertaining reality.

"Hello, Ed," she smiled. She side-stepped the flame-haired, golden-eyed chandelier and continued on to her room. Ed immediately crashed to the floor and stared after her.

Ed had always liked to pretend she could see inside people's heads with her goggles on. Faye had smiled. Her chin was up, her shoulders back...

"Oh no no no," Ed said. The goggles could see right up Faye's nose and into her head! _She's rotting. She's rotting inside. All rotten and squidgy and lumpy,_ she remarked. She crept into Faye's room and suspicions that Faye was not alright despite the cool and confident exterior were immediately confirmed when Ed was welcomed with a broad and shimmering smile.

"Would you like to sit with me for a bit?" Faye pat a square of empty space next to her on the bed.

Ed's mouth gaped open like a goldfish, "Um...uh-huh."

She approached this mysterious creature cautiously.

"The game is afoot," she whispered under her breath.

Ed gingerly sat down on the bed next to Faye. She looked uncertainly up at Faye who had scuttled back on the mattress so that she was propped up against the wall. There was a moment of awkward silence. Faye seemed to be waiting for Ed to do or say something. And then--

"How 'bout I do your hair? Or you could paint my nails? I have some nail polish around here somewhere," Faye turned from the wall and leaned far over the edge of her bed towards her dresser. She pulled open a drawer and tried to see inside. "I could dress you up...or we could play cards...?"

Faye suddenly felt a hand on her arm.

"Faye-Faye. Stop."

Ed couldn't hear Faye's words. Bones, bones rattling. The sound of bits and pieces of Faye-Faye breaking off inside herself, ricocheting off bones on their way to the ground, making little noises like rocks hitting a windowpane, drowning out Faye's insistence that she was fine, underestimating Ed's understanding of human nature. But Ed was wearing her goggles. She knew better. She could see the shards of beautiful, beautiful Faye piling up around her feet. She could reach out her arms and hold her together, keep her still. But Ed knew what happened to flowers sometimes when you tried to hold them.

_I want to protect you from the wind and rain, but you shrivel and brown between my fingers. __The wind will take you in the end, the rain will wash you from my skin._

"Let's play something different, Faye-Faye. No more pretend," Ed said, sorry that the thoughts in her head had left her before she could speak them aloud. For a moment she wished she was older so that she'd be better equipped to help her grown-up friend. But that thought, too, vanished just as quickly as the others.

"What," Faye whispered. Then she giggled nervously, "I hate when you call me that."

"Faye..."

"Ed..." Faye's voice wavered slightly, "Ed...if I left...would you..."

Ed's head tilted to the side. _No! No no no no! Everyone runs away and I try and I try...so hard...so hard..._ She flinched slightly at the sound of her own voice screaming in her head and mentally crushed her skull between her hands to silence it. _Ed is here for Faye._ Ed knew that her next few words to her friend could probably affect the rest of her life. She had to choose them carefully. She could keep her here. She could keep Faye here and they'd be friends forever. All these songs in her head...the screaming...it was so difficult to think straight.

Faye was still leaned over the end of the mattress. She was almost completely still but Ed could see her shoulders drawing up, the hardening of the muscles in her back.

"Remember how I told you that I knew where I belonged?" she asked suddenly. Ed nodded but Faye couldn't see it with her back to her, "I was wrong. I don't belong anywhere. Maybe I did once. A long time ago, though. Everything...everything is..."

A chuckle escaped her as though it were being throttled from her. It contorted under the strain of self-contained agony. Ed found the words in the lush, vast jungles of her mind and spoke them before they could escape.

"Make a place. To belong. Go find it."

Faye turned abruptly to look at Ed. Her eyes were wide and brimming with tears. Ed smiled back.

Moments later, when Ed found herself sitting alone on Faye's bed, she thought about how much she had grown up in the past year.

The thought stayed with her a whole five minutes.

* * *

**Lyrics used from Sam Roberts' _Where Have All The Good People Gone?_ Don't sue, please.**


	19. Hear You Me

All this crap. 

All this bullshit.

All this "love".

It's made me weak.

And I am not weak.

I am _not_ weak.

She didn't need to pack. She had already been packed from the last time she had planned on leaving. Her small canvas bag sat forgotten in a corner of her room during a time when all thoughts conjured in her dizzy head were singularly concerned with Spike.

She rummaged through the bag quickly, changing into the only pair of jeans she ever remembered owning aswell as a grey and ratty sweatshirt she had worn maybe once or twice. As she pulled it over her head she wondered how it had gotten so worn-looking so quickly. Then she remembered - it had belonged to Spike. She had taken it from him several months ago. Before all this crazy shit had started. She remembered wearing it once and then offering it back to him. His reply was something like, "I'd sooner burn it than wear it _now_." Faye smirked at the memory which both amused and pained her. She had washed her face and mused over a complexion without make-up. She looked no older than eighteen without the paints and powders that usually masked her.

_Like I'm just starting out._

_Like none of this ever happened._

_Or hasn't happened yet._

But that wasn't quite right.

She could keep this from happening again.

She had seen the future and now she could change it.

She had held the compact disc her sister had given her in her hands for several moments before depositing it back on her bed. She slung the bag holding her meager belongings over her shoulder.

Then Faye left the tin can that had served as her bedroom for the past year for the last time.

* * *

**There's no one in town that I know  
You gave us some place to go  
I never said thank you for that  
On sleepless roads the sleepless go  
May angels lead you in**

* * *

"You understand then?" 

"Well...yes. But you don't have to. I know he can be an asshole--"

"It isn't about that. It isn't about him anymore, Jet."

Jet leaned back on his workbench and scratched the nape of his neck. His nervous habit. It made Faye smile. He was so predictable. She would miss that.

"Just don't feel like you _have_ to leave...I know things are tense right now..."

"Yeah," she snorted.

"Just...just look after yourself, okay? And try to keep in touch. We still have to figure out what's going on with--"

"I will," she said.

They stood across from eachother not knowing what else to say. Well..._knowing_. But delaying.

"Good-bye, Faye," Jet said offering her his hand.

Faye smiled sunnily, hoping he wouldn't see the cracks in it. She took his hand and shook it firmly.

"Good-bye, Jet."

She slipped through the corridors and finally out onto the dock.

She took a deep breath and urged her composure to stay with her.

She shifted her bag to the other shoulder and it sat awkwardly across her back as she took the first steps towards leaving the Bebop as tentative as though she were on the end of a rubber band that drew tauter as the distance between her and this place, her home she'd guessed, became greater.

_Stomp._

Faye turned her head towards the sound.

Spike was standing near the edge of the dock using the heavy heel of his boot to ground out a cigarette. He was wearing his work clothes which were lined with grime. He took up a cloth in one of his hands and began rubbing his palms against it.

When they realized the other's presence they turned to face eachother. Faye tried to read the expression on his face but it was a complete blank. She may have been able to see something in his eyes but he was too far away.

"It was nice working with you," she called out, shattering the uneasy silence between them. She could see Spike nodding, his attention focused on his hands as he continued cleaning them.

"Yeah. You, too," he replied.

Faye stood for a moment watching him carefully, determined to figure out what was going on in his head. She wondered if he had resigned himself to her leaving or if he was trying to act indifferent. The latter seemed more likely. Spike was not one to resign himself to anything, despite outward appearances of being an easy-going, go-with-the-flow kind of guy.

More than anything she wanted him to know he no longer had control over her.

She turned and started to walk away. Breathing returning to normal. Her pace picking up speed.

"Hey."

She paused mid-step.

I hate him, she thought to herself.

No. I hate myself.

The self-loathing was quickly disguised behind a breezy smile as she turned back to face him. "Yes?"

He strolled casually towards her, bunching the filthy cloth into one of his fists. He ran the other hand over the stubble across his jaw.

"Do you even know where you're going?"

"I'll go wherever the wind takes me, I guess," she said. "That's how I ended up here, after all."

"If I remember correctly it was six thousand woolongs that dropped you into our laps. Oh, wait. And lack of gas."

"See? And you guys thought you never had any luck."

"Yeah. Lucky us."

Spike smiled.

Faye smiled back.

* * *

**Never thought I'd see her go away  
She learned I loved her today  
Never thought I'd see her cry  
And I learned how to love her today  
Never thought I'd rather die  
Then try to keep her by my side**

**She cuts my skin  
And bruise my lips  
She's everything to me  
She tears my clothes  
And burns my eyes  
She's all I want to see  
She brings the cold  
And scars my soul  
She's heaven sent to me**

**Now she's gone  
Love burns inside me**

* * *

Spike knew time was running out. She was restless. Her fingers fidgeted with the strap of her bag, the strands of hair taken up by the breeze. Whatever she could find that strayed a ways from her body. She stared up at the sky. She stared down at the tips of her sneakers. Anything she could do to avoid looking at him. She couldn't wait to get out of here. 

And he found himself making stupid conversation, asking stupid questions to keep her here just a little longer. Just until he could grow the balls to say what he wanted to say.

He wasn't sure what that was exactly.

He needed to stall somehow.

As though she had figured out the game she suddenly said, "Well...I should get going..."

She motioned slightly towards the expanse of sky behind her. "I want to be somewhere before it gets dark. This is no place at night for a lady," she smirked.

Spike found his mouth suddenly parched. He nodded, "Yeah." The word came out painfully hoarse.

Faye paused for a second before blinking and turning on her heel.

_Jesus._

_Stop her._

_How?_

_Just stop her, you stupid fuck!_

"You really are a heartless woman."

_Oh, for Christ's sake..._

"What?" Faye stopped again. _Mission accomplished._ But what now?

"You just come and go as you please. You're always around when there's money or food to partake in. And then you disappear. Without a thank you. Without anything."

Faye looked as though she couldn't believe what she was hearing. Her eyes narrowed. "_Thank you?_" she repeated in almost a whisper.

Way to go. Spike mentally dug his heels into the ground.He'd unintentionally started something. He had to finish it.

He braced himself.

"Thank you for what, exactly?" she asked incredulously. Her voice had taken on almost a growl. "For making me the whore in all your little busts? For reminding me constantly how temporary I was? How expendable I was?" She was gaining momentum and as she did she moved closer to Spike.

"How 'bout for _these_?" The bag she carried hit the wooden planks of the dock with a dull _thud _as she pulled her sweatshirt down around her shoulder, displaying the yellowed bruises he had left there only days before. And even now, even while he was answering for everything she believed he had done to her over the past year, when he thought of those bruises, when he thought of his mouth on her, his insides burned.

"Yeah. I'll thank you, Spike Spiegel. Lemme just thank you for making me a receptacle for any shitty thing that's ever happened to you. Lemme thank you for using me as your medium to Julia. Like I was some sort of fucking telephone wire to the land of the dead you could access with your dick."

Spike took a step back but Faye was relentless. Her hands were suddenly on his chest.

"_Thank you!_" She pushed him. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" Pushing him with every utterance.

And suddenly the words were there. He felt them, tasted them in his mouth. And they were unstoppable.

"Fuck, Faye..."

_No!_

"I'm in love with you."

_Stop!_

"It was you. It was always you."

_Stop, stop, stop!_

"Faye..."

The force of her fist connecting with his jaw actually managed to snap his head to the side. He blinked a few times before turning to meet her eyes. They looked like shiny hard stones in her skull.

"I'm leaving. You're not going to stop me this time, understand?"

And then suddenly, she was smiling again.

"Don't worry, Spike. You're a good-looking guy. You could probably have any woman you want." She picked up her bag and began walking away again. Spike stared after her. When she began to turn slightly to face him again he actually flinched.

Jesus, what was happening to him?

"Oh, wait. Actually, you can't have any woman you want, can you? _You're_ the only person I know who can come back from the dead."

Spike turned away. But not before she spotted his eyes widen as though he'd been shot with a crossbow.

Damn the bitch.

"Well, guess what? Faye Valentine is dead now, too." She moved closer to him and almost whispered in his ear, "You killed two women in almost two months. _Bravo_."

And then she was gone.

* * *

**Lyrics used from Jimmy Eat World's _Hear You Me_ and Black Rebel Motorcycle Club's _Love Burns_. Don't sue, please.**


	20. Bottle Of Distilled Damnation

**Well, you didn't wake up this morning  
'Cause you didn't go to bed  
You were watching the whites of your eyes turn red  
The calendar on your wall  
Is ticking the days off  
You've been reading some old letters  
You smile and think how much you've changed  
All the money in the world  
Couldn't buy back those days**

* * *

_Nora._

It was such a simple name.

Like _Faye._

And I wanted her for that.

I was heading towards thirty like a bullet train.

Like I was on the bullet train.

Time passed.

Shit, it flew.

We travelled to so many places. So many different places. Like, all these...exotic places.

And everyday I still ate the same fucking thing.

Hamburger with mushroom and swiss. Fries. Side of mayo.

Different variations, of course. I mean, no one's going to make it exactly like I used to have it at Freed's, right?

Still, I had it every day. And when we finally made it (it seemed like forever at the time, but now it's like it happened in no time at all) the habit seemed to turn into some difficult rock star's request. Many irritated sighs from hotel waitstaff, venue management, etc. I wasn't trying to be difficult. I just couldn't let it go.

Sort of like with you.

There'd always be girls. Like fucking vultures. Before the show. After the show. At the after-party. In the hotel lobby. It was surreal. It was like they came out of fucking nowhere.

I just never noticed there was ever more than one girl on this planet. But once you were gone it was like waking from a dream.

Waking up to a nightmare.

I avoided them when I could. Slipping past them with my head down, arms drawn against myself as albums and markers, flowers and bad poetry, sometimes even drugs, were waved or shoved at me.

The guys told me I was being a bastard. For a while they couldn't understand it. I got chewed out by management and the record company people a couple of times for my 'strange' behaviour. Actually, to say 'for a while' would be wrong. They never understood.

No one would ever fucking understand.

Eventually they all changed their tune when my 'aloofness' began to prove to be irresistable to the press and the public. It made life unbearable for myself. I was followed everywhere. And not just by girls anymore. Photographers were suddenly everywhere, too. Sometimes I thought I wouldn't be surprised if a camera didn't pop out from behind a urinal stone while I was taking a piss.

And then I could suddenly see thirty hurtling towards me like a pair of panties some dirty groupie had tossed at me from the crowd.

And then I met Nora.

I can remember the look on your face when you caught me smoking behind the gymnasium one day during a spare period. I can remember telling you I'd quit if you'd only go with me to the movies. I can remember that first day I met you. I can remember every detail. I followed you home like a puppy. Walked you to your door. Your eyes danced for every moment they were on mine. Many moments. You slowly closed the door and I tilted my head to the side as the door came closer and closer to shutting you away from me. Your eyes never left mine. And they never stopped dancing. Not for a single fucking nano-second.

I remember like it happened just before lunch.

But I can't fucking remember where I met Nora. I can't fucking remember when I proposed to her. I can't even remember what our fucking wedding day was like.

And the marriage. Well, I guess it goes without saying. It was a big, fucking disaster. We managed, or rather she managed, to hold on for three years. I think that was a miracle. Or a testament to her patience. I was a selfish bastard. And she loved me. And I tried to love her.

But she just wasn't you.

And neither was Angela.

She died before our marriage could fall completely apart. Brain anyeurism at twenty-nine. Fucking tragedy.

But I was happy to be rid of her. Sick, right?

The band eventually fell apart and I was happy to be rid of them, too.

And everything slowly returned to the way I guess I'd always wanted it to stay in the first place.

I was alone again.

And constantly thinking of you.

I travelled the world to escape my thoughts of you. I didn't have you but every toy, every stupid shiny object that might have a chance of distracting me from the miserable want in the pit of my stomach was at my fingertips. Girls with painted faces and dyed purple hair that never shimmered the way yours did no matter how many fucking stage lights hit them during a show were at my disposal. But it was all just trash to me. It was all just trash in cans lined up outside my house.

I was angry those first few years. I cursed your name. I couldn't believe you had left me. I was fucking delirious. I know. It wasn't your fault. I called you a selfish bitch so many times after I'd speak to your mum asking if there was any change. And, of course, there never was. I'd crumple to the floor, sometimes fall asleep that way with tears settling on my skin like wax. Fuck, I wanted to marry you. And you had the gall to go and have that accident.

You left me alone in this shitty universe.

But now, so many years later, I realize you never left me. You were always fucking _here_.

You were always in my heart.

* * *

**Lyrics from The The's _This Is The Day_ were used. Don't sue, please.**


	21. Halfway to Crazy

Well, my computer is sort of working again. Unfortunately I'm not! Well, not properly anyways. So I apologize for this chapter which was written pretty damn half-assed. But you know me, right? As soon as I write a better one I'll take down this sorry state of affairs and replace it. 

**Lovers  
Tongue tied  
And tied to the tongue  
Making deals going bad by the dawn**

Spike's insides seemed forged from iron.

Drinking, smoking, hail of bullets.

It all passed through him like water.

And food?

He could eat hanging upside down over a pit of waste smelling like five-day-old death if he was hungry.

So what was his problem?

His problem was the three pairs of eyes glaring at him as he leaned over his cup of lemongrass shrimp noodle.

Spike had been sitting here with his chopsticks poised above the steaming ramen noodles for almost five minutes now. He had hoped they would have weakened beneath the weight of his steely gaze. After all, he could stare down just about anyone.

_Well._

Except for Faye.

And Jet, Ed and Ein apparently.

Spike feigned loss of interest in the staring contest he was presently losing by exhaling fiercely and rolling his eyes.

"What?" he growled.

Jet's lips twisted into a strange sort of grin, "Idiot," he said.

"Idiot, idiot, idiot!" Ed sang.

Ein snuffled and yipped, which Spike assumed also translated into "idiot".

Spike threw his chopsticks down onto the coffee table. He'd lost Faye, the respect of his comrades (he used the term "comrades" loosely just now). Hell, he'd even lost the fucking staring contest.

But there was no goddamn way he was going to lose his dinner.

"She wanted to leave. I couldn't stop her," he snapped defensively.

Jet snorted and looked away.

Spike continued, "I tried, okay? I tried to keep her here. She wasn't having it."

"Not the way you were giving it."

Jet snatched one of the five cigarettes Ed had stuck in her mouth. He put it between his lips then smacked Ed gently upside the head to get her to return the remaining cigarettes to the empty carton laying on the coffee table. When Ed obeyed, Jet pat the flaming foxfire of hair balanced atop the girl's crazy head.

Spike watched, fuming.

"You know what your problem is? You just get too fucking attached to things! Just let her go!"

"You should thank your lucky fucking stars I do, otherwise I'd have fucking left you where I found you!" Jet laughed, leaning back into the armchair and taking a long drag on his cigarette. "Now, if you'll excuse us, Ed and I have a lot of work to do. Unless, of course, you want to help earn your living?" Jet smiled, raising his eyebrows.

Spike stood, stumbling over the corner of the coffee table before stalking up the stairs and disappearing into the corridor.

"Fuck you," he muttered.

"Marvelous!" Spike yelled on entering his room. He'd just realized he still held the container of noodles in his hand but unfortunately the chopsticks were rolling around somewhere on the floor in the other room with Jet.

"_Fucking marvelous_!"

The noodles stuck to the part of the wall they hit when he threw them. Spike missed this miracle of physics, though, as he blindly paced the confines of his small room before storming back down the corridor and out into the hangar.

"Jesus Christ," he whispered, catching his breath. And then, "where the hell is my ship?"

But of course it wasn't there. It hadn't been there for some time now. He didn't know where it had ended up after his final visit with the Syndicate. He knew that. Of course he knew that.

_What the hell is wrong with me?_

Spike crumpled against the nearest wall and squeezed his eyes shut hoping that on opening them he'd find he had become the universe's first time traveller, managing to appear some time before his life turned to shit.

_You lost that, too._

Faye.

Respect.

The staring contest.

And worse than losing his dinner?

Spike had clearly also lost his mind.

**Lyrics quoted from The Jesus and Mary Chain's Halfway To Crazy. Please don't sue.**


	22. Blue Girls

**When I was with this girl last night  
She held me tight  
It turned me on  
The moon was dark  
And those clothes were tight  
Her perfume strong  
It turned me on  
Her presence gone  
Memories remain  
And I still have this dull aching pain  
Desire to reach and touch you once again**

Yeah, it was hard to even see the faces splashed with coloured lights as they swirled about him, let alone put a name to them all. But when she came through the door, let into the place by another nameless, faceless party-goer, he just knew. It was like all the colour and music in the room went into her, getting lost in the drab grey sweatshirt and old jeans she was wearing.

Her eyes, though. Jesus.

She had her own colour and music playing across her face. But even from far away, he could guess it was a sad song.

"Faye?" He had snaked his way through the throngs of party people and finally arrived at her side, yelling her name over the music. His face tinged with guilt when he saw how fragile she looked. She seemed to flinch at every beat of the unidentifiable rock music as though she were afraid she'd shatter like a champagne flute.

"Roscoe...I'm sorry. I didn't know..." she smirked, gesturing feebly at the chaos around her.

Roscoe chuckled, shrugging his shoulders. "This? This is nothing. If I'd had any idea how to contact you, you'd have been invited."

Faye nodded, looking guilty. "I should go."

Roscoe put his hands lightly on her shoulders. "Hey. Are you okay? You look rattled."

Faye's mouth opened as if to say something but someone hollered someone else's name, and the already booming music suddenly got a lot louder. Roscoe slipped a hand around one of her slim wrists and gently guided her back the way she had entered. Through the door and out into the carpeted hallway.

"There's a bar downstairs in the lobby. It's...well...it's quieter," he suggested.

"Your guests..." Faye said hoarsely. She looked away, but not before Roscoe could see that her eyes were moist. The lit hallway revealed ashen lips and dull green eyes. She clearly hadn't slept in some time.

He laughed gently and looked away from her face. The pain that currently resided in her features made his heart inappropriately jump to his throat. "I don't know those people. PR does the guestlists for these things. I'm glad to see you. I was worried...you know...last time..." his voice trailed off into the sounds of Faye's gentle, muffled sobs.

"I don't want to have to depend on anyone. I want to do this alone. But I didn't have anywhere to go. I don't know who I am..." she whispered. The toe of one of her sneakers traced a pattern on the carpet. Her knee banged rhythmically against the bag she handled with both hands.

A couple of women stumbled out into the hallway from Roscoe's condo, clearly quite drunk, side-swiping Faye and speaking loudly. Roscoe sighed angrily, glaring at the pair as he put a protective arm around Faye's narrow and hunched shoulders, taking up her small travel bag into his free hand. He walked her to the elevator, "Come on. Let's get out of here."

**Lyrics from Pulp's _Wishful Thinking_ quoted. Don't sue, please.**


	23. I Think of Your Eyes in The Dark

**Can't you see  
that I've tried  
and tried  
to cool  
this love  
to cool  
this pride?  
****I've got a pain  
in my heart  
and it's tearing me apart  
and I've gone quite insane  
since I've heard your name**

_Fuck, Faye._

Spike lay half-undressed on top of the covers of his bed. His legs hung over the end and he lazily struggled to get his boots off by shuffling his feet against one another, catching the creasing of leather at his ankles and trying to shuck them off. One arm folded up behind his head and the other hand held a cigarette and dangled one free finger to trace the patterns of his wounds across his chest. His eyes were open and watching the smoke gather and hover inches from his face. The air was perfectly still in his room so there was no momentum for dissipation. He'd already smoked four in a row while lying this way. The second cigarette was lit while the first one was still clamped between his lips.

Spike...

_Christ, Faye._

His eyes closed.

When the purple-haired girl turned to watch him he would push her away. He'd grab her hair and pull ferociously at it until it grew long and yellow. He'd press his thumbs into her eye sockets until they shone blue.

But this time he let her approach him.

This time he let the dream come.

Spike...

Can I...?

_Yes. Anything. Anything you want._

He didn't know what she was asking permission for. He didn't care, really. He just wanted to have her here. Whether it was to fuck him or fuck him up, he didn't give a shit anymore. He wanted whatever she was willing to give.

_I'm in love with you, Faye._

Say it again.

_I'm in love with you._

How do I know, Spike? You've hurt me so. You keep hurting me.

Spike felt the cigarette between his fingers as his hand brushed against his chest. The hand stopped over his heart and he gasped intensely, a sliver of a moan escaping him on exhalation as the burning end of the cigarette pressed into his flesh.

_I'll do it again. I'll do it as many times as I have to. To make it up to you. I'll make it all up to you._

No more, Spike.

He bit back another gasp as he felt his hand pushed from his heart. The burn stung when he felt the very tip of her tongue touch it. The small, shy licks aggravated the pain, but there was no way he was going to stop them. Her mouth suddenly closed over the burn entirely, catching his nipple with it. The crushed, used cigarette fell from his fingers and his hand grabbed up several folds in the sheets he lay on. His back arched. His other arm moved down to his side. He wanted to touch her. His knuckles were white trying to fight the urge to tangle in her hair.

But he couldn't take any more from her. He had already taken too much.

And this girl was just the ghost of the one he really wanted.

Spike...

...inside me...

_Christ, yes. Please._

Another moan as he felt her teeth bite fiercely into the hardened nipple captured between her lips.

He knew he was alone, but his pelvis moved slowly and his calloused hand was a poor substitute for the home Faye had offered him so unselfishly only days earlier. She moved above him slowly and momentarily he could see the slight smile on her face as she happened into some pool of light from the corridor on the other side of his slightly ajar bedroom door. But her head dropped and her hair slipped over his jaw. She dipped her face into the crook of his neck. Her lips were wet and they moved effortlessly over his shoulder.

He knew what was coming next. He braced himself.

Tears welled up in his eyes. Not from the pain of her carnivorous assault on his body, but because she was here for only as long as the dream would allow. Whatever she took from him tonight would be returned to him at sunrise. Except for Faye herself. He had lost her and these dreams were going to be all he had. He wanted to sleep forever.

But he suddenly realized quite bitterly that his wish had been granted.

_I've been awake all these months._

A dry sob caught in his throat and desperation grew as he gripped flesh and fantasy in an ill-fated attempt to make them one. He groaned, a casualty of the war between pain and ecstasy as he realized that in only a mere matter of moments he was going to be alone again.

"No!" he cried aloud as his insides spilled and the sweat on his skin grew cold. He felt her leaving his body the way he'd felt Julia lift from the earth as he so desperately tried to release her from death's grip.

He lay the way she'd left him until sunrise; thoughtfully fingering the burn on his chest that didn't fade away when the sun came up.

**Lyrics quoted from The Flamin' Groovies _When I Heard Your Name_. Don't sue, please.**


	24. The bird that you can't see

**I'm a young man now  
But there's an old man on my back  
As he gets stronger I get weak  
Someday soon he'll take the place of me**

None of this makes sense.

It's like it never ends.

_But there has to be a bottom to this goddamn barrel._

"You'll have to speak to Akaido."

"How does one accomplish that feat?" Jet looked over his muscular arm folded in front of him on the bar at the girl sitting next to him wrapped in an olive-green wool sweater. She pushed her dark-rimmed glasses up the bridge of her nose and shrugged her shoulders.

"Damned if I know. I've never seen him. I haven't talked to anyone who has, actually. Even the mains. They don't know a fucking thing about him. I guess that's supposed to be his 'thing'. He's this mystery man or something." Ana sipped at the last bit of bourbon then jiggled the glass in her hand, rattling the ice inside to get the bartender's attention.

"I suppose I could go directly to the Gate Corporation. But I've had a few run-ins with them before and it's never really ended exactly with all of us sitting down to a tea party." Jet brought a hand to his forehead and sighed heavily. "I just don't know what to do..."

"Why do you have to do anything?" Ana asked. She nodded her thanks to the bartender and took a gulp of her refreshed drink before leaning over to make out Jet's facial expression.

Jet shook his head. "I don't know. I don't know. I mean, I guess I'm involved in this thing somehow so I have a responsibility to myself. But I think I'm doing it for them. Sometimes I wonder why I got messed up with those kids. All they bring me is grief. When I remember what it was like before..."

"Before what?"

"Before Spike and Faye got...involved. Before Spike got himself shot up. Before the kid and the dog left...Before we picked up that crazy broad. Before I met Spike..." Jet threw his arms up in the air in a motion of resignation, "Shit. I don't know."

Ana chuckled and rested her chin on her arms against the bar. "Jesus, were you ever happy?"

Jet thought for a moment and grinned bitterly.,"Y'know? I can't even remember. I can't remember ever being happy. I guess I was sort of happy with Alisa. Maybe 'happy' isn't the word. Content. I was content with Alyssa. I think."

"So who are these people? Your kids?"

Jet snorted, "Jesus, no! They're just...room mates. Partners." He laughed and met her eyes for the first time since she'd arrived after he suggested they meet to discuss 'the movie thing'. Her eyes, dark wells in her face, smiled back at him over the glasses.

"Can you imagine if Spike was my son? Jesus, he's almost thirty! How old do I look? "

Ana smiled sadly, "You look a lot older than you probably are. You look tired of this place. Space. The universe. Life. Whatever."

Jet stared at her, suddenly sobered, reflecting the same sad smile back at her. "Yeah."

Ana straightened up and finished off her bourbon in two more gulps. That was her fifth one tonight. "Lemme tell you something, Jet. When you care for people, it's a catch twenty-two. It's a goddamn catch twenty-two. Ask me why."

Mildly amused that her words were beginning to slur, Jet decided to humour her. "Why?"

"Because when you care for people, you're never totally happy. Not unless the people you care for are totally happy and odds are they aren't because they care for people who aren't. If they aren't ever gonna be happy, then you aren't, either. And so you tell them to fuck off, right? And then you're alone. You're alone. And who wants to be alone, right? Answer me that!" She pointed her finger into his chest and glared at him with one eyebrow arched.

"We're all gonna die, Jet. That's all I'm saying. We're all gonna drown but we can choose our anchor. It isn't much. It's total bullshit, to be honest. But it's all we've got," Ana smiled, looking bitter and bleary- eyed. She rested her head against her arms and closed her eyes for a second. It became two. Then ten.

Soon, Jet could hear her light snoring as her body sank towards the bar then off to the side, swiftly towards the floor. His arm came around her waist and propped her up against him. Her head lolled to the side, her lips parting as a slight gurgle escaped them. Jet chuckled sardonically to himself as he reached with his other hand into his pocket for his wallet to settle the bill.

_I guess I'm stuck with the sorry sons-of-bitches, then._

**Lyrics taken from The Jesus and Mary Chain's _Write Record Release Blues._**


	25. Something changed

**I wrote this song two hours before we met  
I didn't know your name or what you looked like yet.  
When we woke up this morning we had no way of knowing,  
That in a matter of hours we'd change the way we were going.**

He hadn't slept the night before.

As a result he smoked with his eyes closed and his head leaned back against the wall.

A safety precaution, if you will. If his head was a free-standing structure, it wouldn't be for long. Leadened with thoughts of the dark- haired girl, the sheer weight of it threatened to pull his body down to the ground.

He remembered fading in and out of sleep. In between these times he'd reach out and touch her hair. Touch her lips. The softest bit of skin just below her ear. He wasn't so far gone to actually believe that she was there and he would have felt dirty and humiliated if she knew he had been thinking about her this way and using his own flesh as a substitute for hers.

In fact, even now, hours after a day he'd passed through like a ghost with barely a rattling of chains, he was sure he'd die if she ever deemed him worthy enough to talk to.

He dragged long, thin fingers through his unruly, dark hair and pushed the hand back into his pocket while his other hand lazily brought the cigarette to and from his waiting lips.

"You know...smoking is bad for you..."

His eyes opened wider than they'd been at any point during the day at the sound of her voice.

_Faye._

She brushed severals strands of hair from her face with her free hand. She held her bag in the other hand.

"And you could get in trouble."

Ezekiel smirked and stood to his full height which seemed almost a foot taller than the small and delicate school girl who stood several feet away from him, walking through the basketball courts on her way home from classes.

"Only if I get caught."

"Suppose I tell on you? The air belongs to all of us. I wouldn't want to die of lung cancer caused by second-hand smoke." A smile pulled gently at her lips.

Ezekiel thought of running his fingers, the slightest tip of his tongue along them as he had last night.

"Suppose you do tell on me?" he said. He was impressed with how casual he sounded despite all that was going on inside him this very moment.

She'd never bothered to speak to him before today.

Her eyes lowered and she covered the growing smile with her hand.

"What if I pay you...for your silence in this matter?" He took several steps towards her but she took the same number of footfalls back. She didn't hide her smile this time, boldly tucking her long, dark bangs behind her ear.

Ezekiel felt as though his heart had stopped.

Her eyes were green. Shimmering. Brilliant.

He'd never been close enough to see them. And he'd thought she was something before. Her eyes made her that much more three-dimensional. Far more than just adolescent masturbation fodder. Inwardly, he cringed, remembering his thoughts and actions from last night. He felt ashamed. Almost enough to leave her this very moment and bury himself six feet under.

_Almost._

"How much?"

"Well. I can't offer much in the way of cash. I spent what I had left on this," he held the last bit of his cigarette out to her.

"Filthy habit. You should stop."

Ezekiel grinned, dropping the cigarette on the pavement and raising his hands in resignation, "Alright. I'll stop."

Faye arched an eyebrow, "Just like that?"

He moved towards her again, catching her eyes with his own. His grin slipped slightly as his breath caught in his throat. She was beautiful. He saw perfect worlds in those eyes.

She didn't move away from him this time. The smile faded from her perfect face as her eyes seemed to focus on the lips that spoke the next few words.

"Yeah," he rejoined quietly. "I'll stop."

"Don't," she seemed to whisper, her lips moving but her voice only a crackling in her small, white throat. The line of her jaw slackened, and her long slow breaths escaped between slightly parted lips.

"Don't...?" Ezekiel said. He watched her tiny frame, her small chest, rise and fall with each inhale, each exhale. A hand reached out, seemingly of its own accord, fingers extended towards that mouth.

Faye blinked suddenly. Ezekiel followed suit when he heard the sound of gravel crunching beneath someone's approaching shoes.

"Hi, Mr. Hitimo," Faye waved, but not before touching her cheek as though checking for a fever. Mr. Hitimo nodded and raised his briefcase towards her, returning the gesture.

"Good evening, Ms. Spector. Mr. Chadwick! I didn't see you in History today. I assumed you had fallen ill."

Ezekiel grinned sheepishly. "Tomorrow, Mr. Hitimo. I promise."

"M-hm. Tomorrow, then, Mr. Chadwick." With that, the stocky, bespectacled teacher continued his way to his car.

Ezekiel turned hopefully back towards Faye, but clearly the spell had been broken. He felt the heat from her dazzling smile before she turned on her heels, starting to walk off.

"See? I didn't tell on you!" she called back over her shoulder. Ezekiel smiled.

"What do I owe you then?"

"Nothing. As long as you stop smoking." She paused and turned back to face him. Her eyes jarring even from so far away. Ezekiel felt as though someone had a strong fist around his heart.

_Oh, Jesus._

_I'm not old enough for this._

"I told you I'd stop," he said.

"Well, then you don't owe me a thing. Smoking can kill you, you know." She seemed to be avoiding eye contact. Ezekiel could feel her eyes burning into the collar of his uniform.

"Well, then what do I owe you for saving my life?" He felt his heart beating fast enough that he thought it might kill him as he walked towards her again.

"Um..."

"Would you like to see a movie maybe?" he blurted suddenly. Faye's eyes widened.

"Well..."

"I mean it wouldn't be a date or anything. I'd be repaying you...for saving me."

"Saving you, huh?" Her eyes beginning to weave the spell between them again. She took another step in the direction of what he assumed was her home, tilting her head towards him as though inviting him for a dance.

Ezekiel quickly licked his suddenly dry lips. His fingers unconciously brushed against his heart through his uniform and the corners of his mouth quirked with unsurmounted pleasure.

"Yeah," he whispered.

**Lyrics quoted from Pulp's _Something Changed_ ... Don't sue. Really. No, REALLY.**


	26. Horse's Head

A single rose  
  
The curtains closed  
  
A stranger's clothes  
  
Were all I found  
  
I found a scroll  
  
And ancient bones  
  
A million ghosts were all around...  
  
_______________________  
  
An eye here.  
  
A mouth there.  
  
Scalps and ears and arms and legs.  
  
Her stockinged feet were careful not to step on the pieces that seemed to almost cover every inch of the ground. A ground she couldn't even be entirely sure was there as she was enveloped in darkness. The room could have gone on forever. The fragments of her childhood seemed to do just that.  
  
"My dolls..." She whispered.  
  
"I'm sorry." A voice behind her.  
  
Dad.  
  
"Did you do this?" When she turned to look into his eyes, she was not surprised to see that his head was gone.  
  
"I was looking for something." His voice seemed to be coming from his chest and she directed her attention to where she imagined his heart would be under his suit.  
  
She surveyed the room again. Her beautiful dolls. Their shattered skulls. She knelt down by her father's feet, the lower halves of her legs pressing and crunching against the jagged pieces of porcelain. She rested her head against her father's knee and never noticed the sting.  
  
____________________________________________________________  
  
She woke up and found herself on the same yellow couch she had woken up on many times over the past year. Her only good morning was the hum of the ceiling fan above her. The ship seemed completely devoid of inhabitants. She gave her head a good shake and reached over to the coffee table for her morning cigarette and, of course, found it missing.  
  
Spike.  
  
That greedy bastard.  
  
She untangled herself from the blanket she had slept beneath. She smiled and remembered she had been watching a movie in the wee hours of the morning and hadn't planned on falling asleep on the couch which meant she hadn't fallen asleep with the blanket.  
  
Jet must have put it over her as she slept. She would thank him for it but he would get flustered, embarrassed. He'd deny vehemently that he'd done it and mutter unconvincingly that Ed had done it.  
  
She smiled and stretched and made her way to the kitchen for some coffee. She rummaged through the cupboards for her stash of sugar packets stolen from various coffee shops across Mars. She whistled as she emptied five into her mug.  
  
"Faye..." Jet sounded very alert. He was not a morning person and normally only mumbled a sentence here and there for the first few hours of his day.  
  
When she looked at him she could see his eyebrows were raised. He looked surprised to see her there. As though she were an intruder.  
  
"Good morning." She said cheerfully.  
  
"Where have you been?" He asked, his eyes still wide. His prosthetic hand scratching at his scalp as was his habit when he seemed befuddled about something.  
  
Faye wasn't entirely sure what he was on about but she answered anyways, straining to keep any sarcastic edge out of her reply. "Sleeping. Coffee?"  
  
Jet grunted an approval of some sort and Faye grabbed another mug from the shelf above the stove, filling it with the same foul liquid that substituted coffee in her own mug. She followed him back to the orange couch and set the two mugs on the coffee table as Jet leaned over the vid- screen and searched for something to watch.  
  
They sipped quietly at their 'breakfast' for several moments, settling comfortably into the silence between them. Faye sighed dreamily.  
  
"So this is nice. Just the two of us. It's really quiet without that idiot mouthing off about every little thing I do. Is he out hunting a bounty or is the bum still sleeping?"  
  
There was a pause. An awkward one. It fell between the two comrades like a plane from the sky.  
  
"Faye. What are you talking about?"  
  
"It's just weird that it's just the two of us. Where's Ed? And the dog? Isn't he supposed to be here getting under our feet? Spike must have been pretty pissed off that I got the couch last night. I'm sure it was quite the long and tiresome journey from here to his bed." She chuckled to herself when she thought of how in the evenings, when Spike wasn't out playing pool or drinking and she wasn't out betting on the races, the two of them would fight for the couch. The loser always got the armchair. They'd swear and call eachother names during the commercial breaks.  
  
"Faye...what's happening to you? They're gone. They're all gone. Ed left ages ago. And Ein...He probably followed her. And Spike..."  
  
Faye didn't like the look Jet was giving her right now.  
  
Like she was crazy.  
  
Like she'd been asleep for fifty years and woke up completely unaware that any time had passed.  
  
And this particular feeling was all too familiar to her.  
  
"Spike's gone, Faye. He was killed, remember? It's been a year. He's been gone for a year. And so have you. You left after he died in the hospital. You disappeared..."  
  
___________________________________________________________  
  
Madness comes  
  
Then madness goes  
  
Another warship in the night  
  
Know your god  
  
Hope heaven knows  
  
Your wrong from his right  
  
____________________________________  
  
Faye came out of the dream like a drowning woman suddenly released from her anchor.  
  
She brought herself stark upright and brought her hands to her face. She pressed into them and a small sob jerked her small frame. She peeked at her surroundings between two fingers, momentarily alarmed that she didn't recognize anything. Curtains, furniture - like, REAL furniture. A night table instead of a stool or an old crate where a half-smoked pack of cigarettes rested, the bed she currently inhabited was almost two times the size of the one she was used to on the Bebop. She squinted to adjust to the darkness, faintly registering that her jeans and sweatshirt were strewn across the seat of an armchair.  
  
She turned her head and saw the doors that lead out onto the balcony. A cityscape still grey with twilight. Lights flickering here and there in the sky.  
  
Roscoe. I'm at Roscoe's.  
  
I've been here for four days.  
  
But still the same nightmares. And still the same confusion that wouldn't dispell until after the sun rose when she ripped herself from the horrors of these images that clung to her.  
  
The corpse of her father. The dolls she couldn't ever believe she had loved so much that taunted her when she closed her eyes at night.  
  
Jet. And Spike.  
  
After the fear came the anger.  
  
It seemed beyond her control. She knew she would wake him up. She knew she would see his silhouette in the doorway and momentarily believe it to be that of Spike's. But in those moments her blood seemed to be on fire in her veins, the muscles in her back would tense. She was never entirely sure if she would be kindled or angered by his true presence in this room with her.  
  
Her first morning here, though, Mr. Calhoun had to duck a very pricey lamp when Faye found it was the closest thing to her hand.  
  
_______________________________________________________________  
  
You're such a strange girl  
  
I think you come from another world  
  
You're such a strange girl  
  
I really don't understand a word  
  
You're such a strange girl  
  
The way you look like you do  
  
You're such a strange girl  
  
I want  
  
To be with you  
  
________________________________________  
  
Roscoe had his ideas why she would begin to sob when he slowly approached her bed. He knew she would wake up disoriented. He knew there were nightmares. He would hear her struggling in her bed. Her weight shifting here and there. There was a strange look in those telling eyes of hers when he opened the door to check in on her. This combination of want and fear. It was almost feral. All the muscles in her body seemed to go taut as though she were a cat about to pounce.  
  
He would wonder as they drank their coffee in the mornings on the balcony what would happen if the nightmare continued and she got her hands on him.  
  
But as Roscoe allowed more and more light into the spare room through the crack of the doorway, he saw this look slip slowly from her features. And suddenly she was Faye again. The girl who had shown up at his door only days earlier.  
  
The girl he felt he knew everything and nothing about.  
  
"Do you think that all of us were born with a purpose?"  
  
"Do you ever think there's somewhere else you belong?"  
  
"Can you love someone and hate them at the same time?"  
  
These semi-detached questions only allowed him access to fragments of who Faye Valentine might be. Phrased in such a way that he could only guess from the slightest movements that accompanied them how the answers might affect her life.  
  
He clutched in his hand only threads of this woman.  
  
But she filled his head so completely.  
  
_______________________________________  
  
++ Lyrics taken from Ian McCulloch's 'Horse's Head', Ian McCulloch's 'Drip, Honey, Drip', and The Cure's 'The Perfect Girl' respectively. 


	27. Twisted Under Sideways Down

Sorry it took so fucking long to post this chapter. I was going to make it two separate chapters but I thought perhaps you've been so lovely and patient I should post the two chapters as one longer one. I hope you guys are still with me.

ssg.x.

**Passing by a cemetery,  
I think of all the little hopes and dreams,  
That lie lifeless and unfulfilled beneath the soil.  
I see an old man fingering his perishing flesh.  
He tells himself he was a good man and did good things.  
Amused and confused by life's little ironies,  
He swallows his bottle of distilled damnation.**

**-The The, 'Perfect'**

He'd wasted his touch on striking her and his mouth on cursing at her.

Every day for the past year he'd wished for her departure to simply satisfy the ache in his belly for food she may have eaten. A moment of solitude here and there.

And now he was dying of wish fulfilment.

He had some extra cash in his pocket thanks to Ed and her hacking. He had made a deal with another bounty hunter that he'd dredge up some information about a particular fugitive in exchange for money up front. Unbeknownst to the bounty hunter, some guy Spike remembered as 'Chubby' or 'Tiny' or 'Fatty', the fugitive he was looking for had already been dead in a morgue somewhere in Clugston on Mars for about four days now. Killed during some small-time, illegal craps game. Spike kept this last bit of info to himself, however.

He bought Ed a milkshake and a clay bead-threading kit for her labour and kept the rest of the money for himself. He picked up a bottle of whiskey and a sandwich from some old-school deli he'd been meaning to try out with Ed in tow, happily freezing her brain with creamy, pink goo.

He sat on the couch and unwrapped his sandwich. Pastrami and onions. He chewed methodically and watched Ed organize her new beads by colour.

He welcomed the shift into mental auto-pilot and soon began to relax into the couch as Ed worked at her new project.

Blue.

Red.

Green.

Red.

Blue.

His eyes soon grew heavy and his head lolled to the side uncontrollably as sleep finally overtook him.

"What's it like?" He asked.

The silver-haired man shrugged his shoulders and smiled slightly. He sharply exhaled and for a few silent moments it seemed that would be the extent of his answer.

"It's like being dead. I don't know. You can't feel anything. Not even peace."

They both sat at the top of a very high wall with a strong, bone-chilling wind forcing its way between them. But neither man seemed to notice any discomfort.

"So there's no hell? Or heaven?" Spike asked. He looked down between his knees, past his boots, and couldn't see the ground. He could hear traffic, though. Cars. And people.

Again the silver-haired man made a sharp movement with his shoulders.

"No. Nothing. But then, that's part of the hell, isn't it?"

"Julia. The people you killed..." Spike began.

"The people you killed." His friend reminded.

"Yes. All of them. They're here, too, aren't they?"

"Of course. Except that there is no 'here'. I'm not really 'here'. Except by your will."

Spike looked across at the expanse of nothing in his wake. A shiver travelled along his spine to the base of his skull. His shoulders tensed and an acidic taste filled his mouth so completely he believed it might choke him.

"So it was all for nothing, then." He muttered bitterly. "The people we've killed, the bounty-hunting and...Jesus, it all means nothing."

"It means something when it happens, though. And might I point out to you that you aren't dead yet."

"I know. But I'm tired, Simon." It was the first time he'd said his proper name in over seven years.

"So many agendas." Simon chuckled and shook his head.

Spike looked across at him, amazed to hear the soft ripples of laughter seemlessly escaping from his elegant white throat.

"Take it from me, Spike. Agendas are life's greatest regrets."

A slow grin crossed Simon's face as he nodded towards his oldest comrade. "And this thinking man's hat isn't very suited to you."

"Red...blue...red...green...green..."

Spike opened his eyes and took a moment to reacertain his presence on the ship. His eyes quickly flicked across the computer screen that buzzed incessantly in its constant 'on' state to see that the time was almost eight. He'd slept almost the entire afternoon away.

He looked over at Ed who was still mulling over her beads. It looked as though she had organized them, then reorganized them. Still by colour, but changing the location of the piles.

Spike stood and stretched, brushing sandwich crumbs off his shirt and lap. He didn't even question the fact that he remembered only eating half the sandwich before dozing off. Or even that Ed had a smear of mustard on her chin.

He grabbed the jacket he had dropped across the arm of the couch and walked determinedly out of the room.

He was halfway across the dock when he had to determinedly walk back to the ship to get rid of the beads Ed had braided into his hair while he had been sleeping.

But after he did that, there was going to be no stopping him.

**Walk with me, Suzy Lee  
through the park and by the tree  
we will rest upon the ground  
and look at all the bugs we found  
then safely walk to school  
without a sound**

**Well here we are, no one else  
we walked to school all by ourselves  
there's dirt on our uniforms  
from chasing all the ants and worms  
we clean up and now its time to learn**

**And we don't notice any time pass  
we don't notice anything  
we sit side by side in every class  
teacher thinks that I sound funny  
but she likes the way you sing**

**Tonight I'll dream while in my bed  
when silly thoughts go through my head  
about the bugs and alphabet  
and when I wake tomorrow I'll bet  
that you and I will walk together again  
cause I can tell that we're going to be friends**

"Can I ask you something?"

Ezekiel looked up from the fingers tightly wound around themselves in his lap. He thought that when the silence ended it would do away with some of the tension but it seemed to do just the opposite. He rocked gently back and forth on the swing and watched the tip of Faye's shoe poke the gravel rift worn into the ground beneath her own swing.

They had seen eachother every day since their first proper meeting. He would walk her home then wait in the park behind her house for her to finish up dinner and her homework. He'd wait anxiously for the light in her bedroom to go off and that's when his blood would begin to make noise in his ears.

He knew once the light in her room went off it would be only a matter of four minutes before she would be here in the park with him.

She usually had a dark coat wrapped tightly around her shoulders and her tiny feet tucked into a pair of old sneakers. She would always be in her nightgown in case she needed to sneak back into the house and make like she had been there all evening. He could see the hem of it swaying slightly with her movements. The pale fabric competed with the soft ivory of her calves for the moonlight.

They would play like little kids at recess. Climbing rope ladders. Dangling from the monkey bars. Whipping down slides and firemen poles.

When they were both out of breath, they'd sit on the swings and talk quietly until the cold night air began to bite into their lungs and Faye would have to sneak back home. At eleven, Faye's father would check in on her and her little sister on his way to bed after working downstairs in the study all evening.

But it would be a good two hours before she'd need to sneak back into her room.

Still, it was never enough time for Ezekiel.

Or his nerves.

They ran from one end of the playground to the other and back again. Faye tried to stifle her laughter, paranoid that somehow her parents would be able to hear her. They would tease, taunt, call out to eachother in loud whispers they hoped would simply get lost in the trees and shrubs that seemed to shut them off from the rest of the world.

Tonight was going to be the last night. He could feel it and his heart was breaking for it.

She hadn't looked him in the eye since she'd arrived. She came and sat on the swing next to him without a word.

They'd been sitting like this for fifteen minutes. Through the corner of his eye, Ezekiel watched Faye stare up at the sky. Every so often he'd hear the chains of the unoccupied swings on either side of them sway with the wind. He'd hear her inhale deeply through her nose then sigh and shrug back into her coat.

She's sick of me.

She's sick of me and tonight she's going to tell me she can't meet me anymore.

Ezekiel's throat felt raw with what he thought might be anguish or the thousands of words he wanted to say to her before this day had come.

"Can I ask you something?" She asked.

Why are you so boring?

Why do you waste your time in school if you're so dumb?

Why am I here in the dark with you when I could be warm in my bed?

"Yeah..." Ezekiel said hoarsely.

"Do you like Laura Mheng?"

Ezekiel blinked and let out the breath he'd been holding. Relief, confusion, worry. It all flickered across his face in a matter of mere nano seconds.

He looked up from his hands and across at the slight yet captivating girl sitting beside him. She seemed to shrug into her coat and his heart leapt to his throat when she gently closed her eyes and brushed her face against the felt collar that protected her face from the cold.

His fingers spread open across his knees and his nails bit into his trousers, straining to keep from reaching out and touching the pink on her cheeks and lips.

"Laura Mheng?" He repeated dumbly.

"I see you with her sometimes. In the halls." Her voice was tiny. He could hear a faint tremble underlying the words.

"Laura Mheng. She used to go out with my friend Jimmy."

"Oh."

Ezekiel faintly registered a sound. A choke, muffled as Faye's chin dropped almost to her chest.

"Faye."

Faye didn't move, as though the cold night air had her frozen. The only clue that she was still with him was the rippling of her warm breath leaving her body and joining this world he wanted to share with her.

Frigid, dark.

But still... just the pair of them.

"You don't have to come out and see me."

The voice that came out of her was one he wasn't familiar with. Sharp and tight. Angry.

Ezekiel's mouth opened and closed without a sound escaping from it. Her body sagged slightly and it seemed the only thing holding her up was her grip on the chains of the swing. A sob she looked as though she were fighting with all the life inside her body to keep him from hearing came out and punched him in the stomach.

"I know that. Faye...what's this all about? I come here everyday to meet you. You know I..."

The gravel beneath Faye's feet shifted and crunched as she brought herself out of the swing and started pulling her coat around herself fiercely. She began to walk briskly towards the path back to her house.

Ezekiel almost fell flat on his face as he stumbled after her. He snatched at her elbow and felt nothing but relief when he felt her flesh and bone beneath the sleeve of her coat. He held her firmly in place. She tried to pull herself free but he already had another hand wrapped firmly around the other arm.

She cried out and struggled momentarily before Ezekiel loosened his grip on her. His hands slipped along her arms slightly to rest almost at her wrists. He hadn't touched her until now and even though it was under circumstances such as these, his insides trilled and his chest heaved as though he'd just been out for a long run.

"What did I do?" He almost shouted.

And then again, quieter, "What did I do?"

Faye shivered and looked away.

They stood like that for several long and silent minutes. And then,

"You haven't kissed me. It's been almost two weeks and..."

"Faye..."

"Do you just want to be friends?" She whispered.

"Faye..." Ezekiel watched her mouth as she spoke. And while her lips moved and mouthed these words, words that would have been welcomed by hundreds of others, but only seemed to cause abject misery for the boy who stood before her now, the one and only vivid thought that came to mind was that he needed her to stop saying such things before his poor, prematurely brimming heart burst from his chest cavity.

His lips found hers in the middle of a breath that turned to life in his mouth.

**Lyrics taken from The The's 'Perfect' and The White Stripes' 'We Are Going To Be Friends'...**


	28. Not the average girl

________________________________________________  
  


She's my best friend  
Certainly not the average girl  
She's my best friend  
Understands me when I'm fallin'...  
  


________________________________________________________  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Jet stared out Ana's dinette window while she fixed him something for breakfast. After twenty minutes of dishes, pans and cutlery rattling about, Ana emerged sheepishly from the kitchen area with a bag of granola, a carton of milk and two bowls on a tray.  
  


"Sorry." She grinned. "I was halfway through the eggs benedict when I remembered I can't cook for shit."  
  


Jet chuckled and nodded towards the cup of coffee on the table in front of him as Ana settled the tray between them and sat down.  
  


"You make a pretty angry little pot of coffee. That's all that matters."  
  


Ana adjusted her robe around her. Jet could almost make out some sort of figure. The layers of clothing he always saw her in gave him the impression she was shaped like a toilet paper roll.  
  


"I can't thank you enough for not leaving me to my own drunken devices in that bar. Chivalry's not dead after all. I'll be sure to remember that the next time some asshole belches in my face on the bus." She poured some granola into her bowl and leaving the milk aside, began to pick pieces out and chew them methodically.  
  


When Ana had woken up that morning, just before the sun had come up, she found herself sataring at an inverted neon "Open 24 Hours" sign. She felt a heavy hand on her upper arm and when she looked up she saw that she was nestled against Jet's side. He was holding a newspaper out at arm's length and squinting at it. She watched him silently as he his one free hand alternated between trying to read the paper and sipping his coffee until her leg under the table twitched involuntarily. He turned and looked down at her face, which se was going to guess looked much like she felt -- an old dishrag -- and smiled.  
  


"Good. You're awake. I think we've worn out our welcome here at Mom's Cuppa Joe." Ana looked across at Mom's who, unlike the name suggested, was a large, bald man in a tight t-shirt and a pornstache.  
  


"We've been here all night?" She asked carefully. Jet laughed.  
  


"Well, I didn't know where you lived and I wasn't about to go through your pockets to find out."  
  


Ana nodded and slowly sat up. Jet gave his well-used arm a good shake while she pressed her fingers to her temples.  
  


"Jesus...I'm so sorry."  
  


Jet smiled again and looking into his tired eyes she was relieved to see that he didn't seem to be bothered by the evening's occurences one bit.  
  


"Were you supposed to be at the set this morning?"  
  


Ana snapped out of her reverie and shook her head sharply. Consequently she squeezed her eyes shut and groaned after a wave of nausea crashed and lapped at her insides. "Not going. Sick." She muttered. She raised her eyes to meet Jet's and smirked. "There isn't a helluva lot I can do right now, anyways. the circus is packing up and moving to the next location."  
  


"Where's that?"  
  


"Not too far away from where we are now. Just further east towards the outskirts of Tharsis. I guess they need some exterior shots with some more green. I think there's a bar scene coming up, too that needs to be shot."  
  


Jet nodded and both ends of the conversation abruptly went silent. Jet held up a cigarette and Ana nodded then reached over to open the window while he lit up.  
  


"I appreciate you not asking questions."  
  


"It's okay."  
  


"I need to get a hold of the director. Akaido. I can't find any information about him other than movie reviews and filmographies."  
  


"I wish I had more info on the guy to give you."  
  


"You've been a great help already. That lead about the Gate Corporation financing the film...there's something there. Faye's father..."   
  


Jet stopped himself from finishing his thought aloud. He pressed his lips together, looking guilty, and Ana went deep down within herself and summoned the courage to cover the large mechanical hand that rested unfazed against the scalding mug of coffee before him with her own.   
  


"It's okay, Jet. I trust you."  
  


"You don't even know me." He said quietly.  
  


Ana smiled and leaned back in her chair.   
  


"Really? Cause it feels like we've known eachother forever."  
  
  
  


_________________________________________________________________  
  
  
  


I'm gonna mess you up  
I'm gonna let you down  
I'm gonna cut you to the bone  
You're gonna lose your nerve  
You're gonna learn to hate  
You'll have a love you've never known  


__________________________________________________________________  
  
  
  


Faye sat up in bed reading a book from Roscoe's well-stocked library. It had been ages since she'd been able to sit for any length of time and enjoy a book. She also had the entire apartment to herself while Roscoe was off filming for the afternoon. She appreciated what Roscoe was doing for her to no end, but his concern and worry just added to the guilt she already found herself laden with on a daily basis over the past week.   
  


She needed a vacation from feeling like a freeloader. She felt it was long overdue.  
  


She hadn't enough strength left in her after countless sleepless nights to argue with Roscoe when he suggested she spend the evening in bed. He told her that the housekeeper, Mrs. Loman, would take care of things and that the only thing he wanted Faye to lift a finger to do was to let the woman into the apartment.  
  


Faye reluctantly dragged herself from the warmth of the bed when she heard the muffled knocks coming from down the hall and in the foyer. She grumbled to herself as she drew closer, realizing the knocks were more like bangs against the door.   
  


"One second. Jesus..." She sighed. She swung open the door, determined to give Mrs. Loman a lesson in manners.  
  


She slammed the door shut.  
  


Shit.  
  


Spike.  
  


To her dismay, her heart stopped in her chest and she pressed her fist to it, willing it to start up again. Maybe it was Roscoe. Maybe she got them mixed up again.  
  


"Faye."  
  


No. It's Spike.   
  


"Faye. I want to talk." His voice sounded very cool and detached. Like he was trying to spark up a business conversation.  
  


Faye shook on the other side of the door. Her hand still on her chest and her other hand unconciously squeezing the doorknob.  
  


When several quiet moments passed, she slid down to the floor and closed her eyes, assuming the uninvited guest had left. And then,  
  


"I'm not leaving until we talk."  
  


She sat bolt upright.   
  


She tried to reply with an edge to her voice. Biting, angry. But her voice sounded languid and hoarse when she spoke.  
  


"We don't have anything to talk about."  
  


She jumped when the walls seemed to give with what she could only assume was all his weight being thrown against the door at once.  
  


"Dammit, Faye! Open the fucking door!"  
  


"No." She said firmly.  
  


"You know I can get the door open myself! Is that what you want? I'm sure your host wouldn't want to come home and find his door a pile of splinters in the hall!"  
  


Faye stood up on weak legs and slowly opened the door a crack. She looked up at Spike and blinked the angry tears from the corners of her eyes.  
  


"What do you want? Talk about what?" She whispered.  
  


"I'm not talking to you like this." He said quietly.  
  


"Fine." She let him into the apartment and saw the look of dismay on his face for the second it was there as he noticed what she was wearing.  
  


"Nice pyjamas." He said, again in a detached tone of voice that wasn't nearly broad nor dense enough to hide the trembling beneath it.  
  


Faye looked down at the set of men's blue tartan flannels she wore. She raised her eyes to meet his and jutted her chin forward defiantly. "I don't have time for this. What do you want?"  
  


Spike seemed distracted by the sheer size of the room they were in. She put her hands on her hips impatiently, ready for a fight but found herself slipping on a gentler, less antagonizing stance when she saw the look on his face.   
  


His eyes.  
  


Sadness.  
  


Just...sadness.  
  
  
  
  
  


_________________________________________________________________  
  
  
  
  
  


++Lyrics from the Velvet Underground's 'She's My Best Friend' 

and Echo & The Bunnymen's 'I'll Fly Tonight'. Don't sue, please.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	29. Spinning with the spider in the cave

As a joke I was going to open this chapter with the lyrics for Shaggy's 'Sexy Lady' or something equally ridiculous. Do I want to risk your sheer disgust and boycotting of this chapter, though? No, sir! So I left the Spike/Faye confrontation for the next chapter. I think it's going to be very difficult to write so I want to take some more time planning it out.

Enjoy this one, though.

**Some kinda strange kinda feeling's coming over me  
I bled from the back to the front for the world to see  
Strange as it can seem  
Like livin' in a scream  
Everything is alright when you're down**

"I went to your sister's," he said for no reason at all. He cleared his throat and kept his eyes up over her head as though he were still inspecting the place. "She's a really nice lady. I think I scared her, though."

Faye's eyes widened, "What did you do?"

Spike almost laughed, "Jesus, Faye. Nothing." He paused then shrugged his shoulders and explained further, "Ezekiel. She thought I was Ezekiel."

"Oh."

"Anyways, she couldn't tell me anything. I thought this might be a long shot. I mean you being here with..." He waved an arm to his side, closed his eyes and sighed, "But I couldn't think of anyone else you'd know here."

"I could've left town," Faye remarked quietly. Spike turned his back on her and walked further into the foyer.

"I knew you wouldn't," he said.

"How could you be so sure?" Faye snapped, voice drawn and hoarse.

Spike turned back to stare at her. This first meeting of their eyes jarred Faye and as much as she wanted to turn away and show him how much she'd managed to grow in these few days out of his shadow, she couldn't break away from his face.

"I hoped," he said. "I hoped you wouldn't."

Faye felt as though she were in a trance, barely noticing Spike's hands raised and brushing gently on either side of her neck, tracing the lines of it. His fingers toyed gently with several strands of her hair before pushing through to the back of her neck. Faye instantly felt a dam burst within her.

Their mouths collided ferociously and Faye wasn't able to distinguish if the blood she tasted seconds later was his or her own. Spike dragged her head back by her hair and she cried between his lips as the kiss became more intrusive.

Spike's lips and teeth dropped to and grazed along the line of her jaw. He pressed against her neck and Faye's knees weakened from the pressure on her upper body. She felt as though she were holding him up though he somewhat steadied her with a hand around her waist.

He suddenly inhaled sharply, pulling away.

"Come on." Spike's hand reached out and closed around her wrist and she momentarily resisted his pull. There was a brief moment, as Spike gently stroked the soft skin beneath his thumb, where she looked into his eyes finally of her own accord and saw the change there.

There was sadness still.

There was want.

And there was life.

So she followed him.

**Don't ever change  
Change  
If I can't get to you**

The pressure of his lips on hers was alleviated for less than a few seconds each time they passed a new door.

"Jesus, this place is huge," he said as his free hand, the one not holding her head to his, turned a third doorknob.

The room was large and dimly lit by a bedside lamp. Faye couldn't help but feel a little smug as his eyes roved over every last lush and elegant detail of its design. She felt a chill, though the room was warm enough that a window should have been opened, when Spike's arm slipped from her shoulders, his hand leaving her hair as he noticed his old sweatshirt resting in a neat little heap with Faye's old jeans.

He was so perfectly still for such a long period of time that Faye was afraid he'd turned to stone. She was about to reach out for his hand when he suddenly turned back to her. His eyes narrowed. His lips pursed.

"Nice digs," he commented sourly.

"I had nowhere else to go," she whispered.

"What about staying with..with us then? What about staying...or going to your sister's? Why here?"

"I couldn't stay, Spike. You know that. It was awful. Things were awful. And my sister...I'd be an intruder. A fucking ghost. The ghost of this poor girl who died years ago." She insisted in almost a whisper. Spike seemed to dismiss her explanation with a shrug of his shoulders and a slight rolling of his eyes and Faye suddenly found herself snatching folds of his sleeve into her fist. Her voice returned to her with greater force than she expected.

"She's a fucking stranger to me, Spike!" she shouted.

Spike frowned and didn't fight her pull. He turned back to face her and she slowly loosened her grip on the fabric of his sleeve.

"You aren't a stranger to him?" Spike asked. His voice ragged and thick as though the sound were making its way to her across broken glass.

Faye, exasperated, threw her hands up in the air, shaking her head fiercely and walking towards the bed.

"You really are an idiot, aren't you? Sex is the furthest thing from my mind right now. YOU are the furthest thing from my mind right now." She ground out through clenched teeth. She spun around, quota of courage needed for direct eye contact with Spike having been met. She set her jaw but found he wasn't in any condition to fight.

He was pale, eyes tired and underlined with dark creases. Had the transformation been instantaneous or had Faye failed to notice earlier? She watched Spike slide down along the height of the bedroom door to rest almost on his knees. His dead stare seemed directed at something not even in the room with them.

**Hey I said you're godless and  
It seems like you're a soulless friend  
As thoughtless as you were back then  
I swear that you are godless**

Faye watched him and waited patiently, breathing put on hold until Spike's battle to form words was won. A battle he presently looked too weak to be fighting. Just when Faye began to fear she'd black out before he spoke...

"Did you --"

"Stop before you say something stupid."

"Stupid...?" she heard him whisper into his chest.

"I'm in the middle of a fucking identity crisis, okay? And you're acting like some jealous boyfriend. As I recall, you don't do 'boyfriend'. You're taking my tragedy and turning it into something about you. This isn't about you." Touching her forehead, she continued. "I'm tired, Spike. And you should go. Roscoe will be back soon."

Spike was literally down and Faye felt the hand around her heart jerk the fragile organ painfully as she figuratively kicked him. When she said Roscoe's name Spike had seemed to wince. His eyes blinked furiously, focusing on a point no higher than her hips, even as he pulled himself back to his full height. He said nothing as he turned for the door.

"What do you want, then?" she cried, frustrated. Her voice broke and the tears that welled up and slipped from beneath her lashes as she closed her eyes felt rich and oily moving down her cheeks.

Spike's hand suddenly seemed made from paper mache, fine motor skills missing in action as he fought with a cigarette carton and lighter he procured from an interior jacket pocket.

"I want you to come with me," he whispered as one cigarette slipped between his fingers and onto the carpeted floor. He stooped to pick it up as Faye slowly approached him. She captured his eyes with her own.

"I don't belong there."

"Anywhere then," he said softly. He quickly averted his gaze.

A heartbeat.

And then another.

"What?" she said.

"What?" Spike said, twisting the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger. He quickly discarded the evidence of his habit back in his jacket pocket. He made a move as though he were about to bolt from the room and away from her but Faye held tightly to his upper arm, jerking him back in her direction.

"What did you just say?" Faye whispered, eyes wide. Spike shook his head, hands up as though reminding her of the wall between them.

That same fucking wall he could erect in the sheer seconds it took for him to blink away their connection and look away from her.

The sun seemed to fall away from the sky and she shivered with the cold left in its wake.

"Nothing," he said dismissively.

"I heard you."

"You heard wrong!" he shouted.

Faye's skin suddenly felt far too tight for the rage that filled her so completely it threatened to tear her apart at the seams.

She lunged at him, completely without her head.

"You're a fucking coward!" she suddenly screamed. "You're a fucking coward! I wish you were dead! I wish I was dead! Neither of us are supposed to be here. This whole relationship, this twisted, fucking UGLY thing we have defies every fucking law of physics, space, time...FUCK!" She grabbed at the front of his shirt, alternating between clawing at the skin and fabric that kept his heart from her and pushing him back against the doorframe.

Never could she have imagined her heart could be so ugly. Later, Faye would look back on this with shame and self-loathing for as much as she punched and scratched and spit and swore, Spike made no move to defend himself.

What felt like hours, but realistically was only a matter of minutes later, Faye fell against him, exhausted and arms dangling at her sides like pieces of raw meat. She closed her eyes and hated herself for inhaling and adoring his scent as her face moved against his chest, in and out with his soft breaths and her desperate ones.

She didn't feel her legs touch the ground as Spike finally raised his hands only to gently bring her down with him onto the soft carpet, her head cradled between him and one shaking hand. She felt his other hand, its cool, dry fingers barely touching where the collar of her pyjama top ended and her neck began as he lowered himself to the ground and arranged Faye's useless legs beside her.

Faye thought she had cried so much that all she had left to release from inside her was blood until Spike brought her throbbing and tender fists to his lips and held them there.

It appeared that tears were available to her in unlimited quantities.

**Psych! (Do the kids still say that these days?) I love you guys for putting up with me.  
****Lyrics quoted from _Everything is_ _Alright When You're Down_ and _Don't Ever Change_ from The Jesus and Mary Chain, The Dandy Warhol's _Godless_. Don't sue, please.**


	30. Shine Like Destruction

Have you ever felt the sound of disappointment?  
It pounds in your head like hammer blows.  
Comes on gentle and smiling.  
And it likes to leave a scar...  
Here it comes again no.  
Here comes that sinking feeling.

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­

Jet can hear Ana breathing.  He can hear the soles of her shoes hitting the steps.  He knows she's running behind him, trying to keep up with his swift, long strides, and when he hears her momentarily lose her footing, hears the palm of her hand slap the concrete beneath them, he feels sorry that he can only offer her a quick glance over his shoulder, just to be sure she hasn't cracked her skull open.

It feels as though he hasn't stopped moving like this since he received Spike's call hours earlier.

"I found Faye."  Spike said.

Jet had stupidly smiled to himself and a breath he felt he may have been holding for the two weeks the broad had been gone was released in the form of a chuckle.

"Where are you?"  Jet added quickly, successfully masking his glee.  Faye would maybe come back and Spike would be his normal self again.  Okay, that's not true.  There was the possibility that things would be a hell of a lot better.  Spike could be a completely different person from the man Jet still felt as though he's barely known for five years.  

There's expressions out there about men and love and change and shit, right?  Love makes men change?  Love can change a man?  

Who the fuck cares?  The point is that Ana, even drooling drunk, was right.  Spike having the slightest chance at being happy, and with Faye of all people, would brighten Jet's own outlook on life.

Sure, Jet could mull over the fact that his happiness was currently being manhandled by a couple of emotional fuckwits, he could go out and have a few drinks, cry into them like Hank-fucking-Williams,  or he could just stop thinking for a while and enjoy this measly bit of joy granted him.

"The police are holding me.  Station on Benjamin."

Okay then.  Maybe another day.

"Holding you?"  Jet sputtered incredulously after several seconds of trying to get his head around the words.

"Yes.  Look, you're the last person I want to ask a favour from, but you're the only person left who might give a flying fuck about me –"

"Where's the – where's Faye?"  Jet interrupted Spike's tired and badly disguised self-piteous rant.

"She got taken to a hospital.  I don't know which one."

Jet pressed his eyes shut, lips following suit.  He couldn't feel Ana's hand on his good arm willing a quiet concern on him.

"Jet.  Listen.  Get me out of here and I'll explain everything.  It's not what you're thinking right now, okay?"

Jet's breathing was laboured and for a minute he focused on an act that comes naturally to everyone but had suddenly become a conscious effort for him.

"Jet.  Jet?  They're making me get off the phone.  What's it gonna be?"  Spike snapped.  There was a faint undertone of rising hysteria in Spike's voice.

Suddenly another voice boomed through Jet's communicator, bringing him out of his reverie.

"Listen, whoever the hell you are. You're either gonna come bail your shit-mouthed perverted friend's ass out before another one of our guests makes him their bitch, or you ain't.  Alright?"

The communicator sputtered into static.  Then silence.

And here he was now, running practically.  Dragged along by what?   An urge to kill Spike?     A need to care for Faye?  A simple want for answers?

Spike isn't cabable of hurting Faye, is he?  He wouldn't hurt a woman.  At least not enough to put her in a hospital.  Jet has seen Spike bring in female bounties and there's always a lot of ducking and dodging on his part.  Spike would do whatever he had to to avoid using any force on a woman.  He put on a show, arms flailing, legs kicking, but very little contact was ever made.

But that morning they had all been together for the first time in ages having breakfast...  

It was a new favourite memory marred only by the presence of those bruises on that girl's shoulders.

Faye's foiled suicide that almost resulted in her murder at the hands of her supposed saviour.  

The hurt ankle she tried to hide later behind one of her many defense mechanisms.  Jet remembered that the one selected for that particular occasion was that well-used strut of hers…

Shit.

This wasn't looking good at all.

Well the sun came up this morning  
Like a burning red balloon  
It broke into my window  
And it slipped across the room  
It spread itself upon me  
Like the smell of sweet perfume  
I was sleeping like a baby

And every time  
You try to fool yourself  
You've only got yourself  
To blame  
And every lie you ever  
Told yourself  
Will all come back to you  
One day

"You should eat something."

Faye rolled her head to the side and rested that way.

"I'm sorry, Faye.  I don't want to wake you up but if you don't eat now you'll be starving by morning."

Faye smiled to herself, stretching her arms over her head.  When she opened her eyes she was quite surprised that Jet wasn't standing in the doorway to her bedroom.  Instead she found Roscoe seated in an orange, wingback chair.

She watched as a very unsteady hand reached out for her hair.

"Don't –"  She blurted before the thought that she didn't want him touching her even entered her head.  She pressed back into her pillow.  Roscoe didn't seem offended.  He looked almost embarrassed.

"I'm sorry.  I'm really sorry.  That was very insensitive of me."

Faye looked away from him, trying to familiarize herself with her surroundings.  Roscoe stood and wandered across the room.  He poured himself a glass of water from a pitcher on a bedside table.

"You're in the hospital, Faye.  They're just having a look at you.  To make sure everything's alright.  The ISSP are supposed to come by and ask you some questions in the morning.  They wanted to speak to you tonight but you hadn't come to and the doctors thought you might need some sleep after everything that's happened tonight."

Faye nodded slowly, eyes still moving about the room.  She hadn't a fucking clue what he was going on about.

Hospital?

What happened?

She lifted the sheets she lay under, trying to make out any bandages, spots of blood, any sort of injury that might have brought her here.

She stroked what appeared to be bruises on one of her wrists.

"What happened?  What are they checking for?  What do the ISSP have to do with it?"  Faye's eyes suddenly grew fearful, the size of saucers.  "They can't see me!  I have to get out of here!"

Faye threw the sheets from her body, causing the flimsy cotton covering that was barely doing its duty to flutter about her shoulders and torso.  If the ISSP found out who she was she'd be living out the next several years of her already fairly miserable existence in prison.  Her wrist throbbed when Roscoe's hand closed around it.

"Faye.  You have to stay.  They have to make for certain there's no internal injury.  Just relax, okay?"

"Roscoe, I don't know what's going on!  Why am I here?  I feel fine!  I'm fucking freezing to death!  Where are my clothes?"  Faye winced as she struggled to free her bruised wrist from Roscoe's grip.  Roscoe, aware of the discomfort he was causing her, frowned and moved his hands to her shoulders.  Using his foot, he pulled his chair closer to her bedside and sat down, all the while keeping her pinned to her spot.

"You were attacked tonight.  I don't know how much damage he caused or how far he got but he looked crazy and I thought he was going to…"  Roscoe sighed and looked away.  He whispered into his shoulder "I shouldn't have gone for dinner after work.  I should have come straight home.  I'm so sorry, Faye."

Faye watched him curiously then looked back down at her wrists.  "But I was with Spike.  He wouldn't let something like that happen to me."  At the mention of his name, Faye's entire body suddenly went rigid.  "Did something happen to him?  Jesus Christ, where is he?"

Roscoe rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling heavily, drawing it out as though stalling his answer.

"You don't remember anything that happened last night?  The doctors said this might happen.  You might need some time to remember after the shock or trauma or –"

"For Christ's sake!  Just tell me what happened!  Tell me Spike is okay and tell me who attacked us and why!"  Faye shouted.  In frustration her clenched fists hit the mattress around her hips.

"Spike is okay although if I had it my way he wouldn't be."  Roscoe seemed to be clenching his teeth.  He looked across to Faye, the tension in his jaw melting away as quickly as it had appearedd and with his eyes soft and on her, Faye almost felt shitty for yelling at him.

"It was Spike."

Faye was still, eyes on her left hand, sheets grabbed up into a grip strong enough to powder bones beside her.

I can't breathe.

"Spike attacked you.  The police have him and they're waiting for your word.  He's going to be released on bail in a couple of hours.  I know I don't like the thought of someone being out there and wanting to hurt you."

Breathe, Faye.

Breathe.

Questions.

I have questions I can't ask without air.

Roscoe's hand closed bravely around Faye's and she began to study his fingers.

"You were unconscious and he had you by your wrists.  Your pyjama top was ripped open and there…"

Faye finally made eye contact but now it was Roscoe who couldn't look at her.

"The nurses found semen on your pants."

Faye couldn't move.  Even to shut her eyes in the hopes that on opening them she…

Well.

Perhaps she didn't want to have to open them again.

++ Lyrics taken from The Eurythmics'  "Here Comes That Sinking Feeling" and "You hurt me (and I hate you)"


	31. Awake

I've been awake through the wrong decisions

I've held my ground now I'm gaining soul

I bit my tongue through the cold realizations

I've been accused but I've only begun

Take me on, take me on

I've been awake

Shaking to a rage  
  


In the end

Only once

All you need is a touch

We'll awake every sound

Every chance I'll be found

I'll be with you  
  


Take me on  
  


___________________________________________________  
  


I watched that tape and all I could think was, "She's cute. She would make a great little sister."   
  


I mean, I was an only child and I was always pretty indifferent about it. But I don't know. Watching that tape I was a little sorry I'd never had a sister or brother.  
  


Someone to get into trouble with. Someone to torment. Someone to sort of look up to me. Someone to hang out with. Even if it's fighting over what channel to watch or trashing each other's rooms.  
  


Someone kind of like Faye.  
  


And in a split second this all went through my mind like a gun going off in my skull and my eyes opened.  
  


And it was her.  
  


That girl I felt this strange familial affinity to from an entirely different time and place. A girl I couldn't even perceive to be real because she just seemed so fucking welcome into my life.  
  


It was Faye.  
  


I couldn't think that even to be possible at the time.   
  


And until this very moment. This moment with her exhausted, strung out on misery, head in my lap, fingers touching my lips, she wasn't that girl. Not the same one from the tape. But she wasn't really ever this woman I thought I had figured out over the past year either. I loved her, too.   
  


This girl was an entirely different person. Kind of like a child that came out of these two different people coming together.   
  


And this feeling...   
  


It's like a fucking knife in my ribcage (and I can make this comparison, believe me)...  
  


Fuck. It's all I can do to keep from dying.   
  


If she doesn't forgive me.   
  


If she doesn't invite me back into her life again.

She's crawled in somehow, right deep down inside me, and made her own place.  
  


She's not just here because Julia is gone.  
  


She's here because it's where she's supposed to be.  
  


I'm holding onto her hand as firmly as I can without hurting her. And it's so small. Like, fucking tiny, and I'm afraid I might break it even with just my breath as I bring it against my mouth a second time. A third time.  
  


I won't be responsible for breaking her again.   
  


______________________________________________________  
  


++Lyrics taken from Black Rebel Motorcycle Club's 'Awake'.  
  



	32. Destroyed Cowboy Falls

**You should stick around  
To hear me hit the ground  
It's such a pretty sound.  
If you felt it weeks ago  
Then where'd those feelings go?  
Surely you must know  
'Cause I'm not supposed to feel this.**

**Not when you're leaving.**

* * *

"Faye..." 

The cool, dry hand was welcome against her fevered skin. Some hair clung to her forehead and a not too unpleasant shiver seemed to crawl along every bone in her body when the hand pulled the strands away, gently tucking them behind her ear.

Her eyes were heavy. She realized she'd been struggling with sleep for what seemed like forever. Only a few days, really. Still, she lay with her head on his lap and his hands in her hair, breath baited, waiting for his words.

"If I could take all this away..." his lips close to her ear, warm breath tickling the skin, "...I would." His arms cradled her, shifting her body ever so slightly so that he could press his mouth gently to her forehead. "I probably shouldn't have come."

Faye's lips moved but no sound came of the effort. She shook her head.

"It's been days, though," he went on. "I needed to see you. I tried to distract myself but I couldn't get you off my mind."

Reluctantly, Faye mustered the strength to sit up alone and pull away from the strong, thin arms that held her.

Her voice crackled and hummed in her raw, dry throat as she scolded him gently, "You shouldn't skip classes, though. We won't graduate together." Ezekiel's eyes were sparkling when he huffed and dropped his arms at his sides, laughing.

"Well. It would figure the first coherent sentence you direct to me in almost a week is about school."

Faye glared at him before a series of coughs shook her, launching her back into Ezekiel's arms. Would this stupid flu ever go away? She felt as though she'd been trapped in the house for an eternity.

She heard his voice, thick and muffled behind his school shirt and necktie, "Sometimes I think you want to be a teacher so bad so you can boss people around."

Faye tried to be outraged but when she felt the fabric of her pyjama top move up her back as she leaned further into his embrace, his fingers tensing with the contact of her bare skin, she realized quite suddenly that she loved him.

She didn't say it aloud, though. The phrase sounded stupid to her.

It wasn't enough.

Only a matter of months ago he was virtually a stranger. A boy with strange eyes that looked at her in such a way that it made her wish she could become the very person he may have been seeing instead of the one that was there.

She knew he watched her but he never received confirmation on her knowledge of this until the one day their eyes met accidentally in the mirror of the small compact she had been using to check on the state of her lipgloss during a student assembly.

He sat two rows behind her, eyes fixed on her, captured in this small world she had unwittingly created for them from plastic and glass.

When they realized they had been spotted by the other, Faye's compact snapped shut and the sound seemed to echo throughout the entire gymnasium. If she hadn't been blushing so furiously she may have noticed her teacher glowering at her from where she stood at the end of the aisle.

Moments passed and when she finally felt safe in the belief that the very telling pink had fled from her warm face she slowly opened her compact.

His seat was empty.

The rest of the day seemed arduous. She sat in her designated seats in her designated classes like someone in their car waiting for the traffic to let up. Waiting for the car in front of her to move so she could get to where she was going.

She didn't know what her destination was until after school two days later as she walked through the basketball courts on her way home. And he was there and she felt as though the two days of classes were worth it when she saw that look in his eyes she'd unconsciously desired these past forty-eight hours.

"Your hands are cold," she whispered.

"I'm sorry," Ezekiel said, embarrassed. His hand almost moved from the skin of her lower back but she inched her hips forward so that his palm could lie flat against her skin.

"No. It's nice," she said into his chest. She turned her face upwards to look at Ezekiel but his eyes were focused on his hand.

"Do you want to play cards or something?" he asked abruptly. He cleared his throat and sat back, hands moving to her shoulders to push her from him and hold her at arms' length. He smiled, but it was forced.

Faye smiled coyly, "Do you like Laura Mheng?"

Ezekiel frowned and looked away, "Don't make fun of me about this, okay? I'm afraid."

Faye watched him stand up from her bed and take a few steps away, closer to his jean jacket.

"I'm not making fun of you, Ezekiel. It's just you never really want to touch me and I can't understand why."

Ezekiel laughed nervously and picked up his jacket. He twisted it in his hands and Faye began to wonder if she should muster up the strength to stand and block the door to keep him from bolting from the room. "Faye, you know I want to. I mean you can look into my face and see it, can't you?" He let out a sigh, "What if I fuck up? What if I...I mean, fuck...I don't know what I'm doing."

"You've been with girls before, Ezekiel," she said matter-of-factly. She wondered if he could see the slight disappointment that tugged at her mouth whenever she was reminded of this. She bravely sat up straight and locked gazes with him.

Ezekiel nodded, laughingbitterly to himself,and slowly started to put his jacket on. He pat his pockets, probably searching for the cigarette that hadn't made its appearance on or around his form since that day they'd first spoken on the basketball courts.

"You're not just _a girl_. You're Faye Spector," he muttered. He snatched up his messenger bag and clenched his fists around the strap.

"Come here, Ezekiel. Come here. I'm sorry," Faye said as loud as her throat would allow. Ezekiel swung the bag over his head momentarily as he brought it down onto his shoulder. In the process he managed to knock over one of her porcelain dolls from her dresser. Faye didn't even blink when she heard the sound of the doll's cheek caving in on hitting the hardwood floor. All she could think was that she'd somehow hurt Ezekiel's feelings and didn't have a clue how. And now he was stalking towards the door and she couldn't move fast enough to keep him from leaving her.

"Please, please...I'm sorry. I'm sorry!" she cried. She was surprised at how painful the beginnings of the sobs inside her were as they moved through her throat. She stood and followed him out into the hallway and to the stairwell. Her insides heaved when she looked down to watch him move quickly down the steps and through the front hall towards the doors. She reached blindly to her side for the railing to hold onto and stumbled slightly. With both hands on the wood to bolster her she cried out his name and he turned suddenly in the doorframe.

"I'm not good enough for you. I'm never going to be good enough for you, Faye. And it hurts me to know that and be around you and be reminded of that constantly."

"I'm sorry I said anything," she sobbed gently. He sniffled and stared out the door, "It's not what you say, Faye. It's just you. It's being around you. I can't do it."

"Why?"

"Because!" he shouted. His voice broke and he looked back up into her eyes and she gazed fuzzily back at him as he went in and out of focus. "I love you so much, Faye! But this isn't going to happen! I'm not going to graduate this year and you're going away to school in only a few months to become a fucking teacher! You're so pretty and your parents want so much from you and while you're away making something of yourself I'm going to be screwing around in Butt-fuck, Nowhere with my guitar and my loser friends, writing awful love letters to a girl who's going to come to her senses any day now and realize her boyfriend is a moron!" his shoulders shook and she could see him swiftly wipe a sleeve across his eyes before turning again to the door.

That was when Faye assumed she fell down the stairs.

When she woke up in her bed almost an hour later, she was unharmed aside from her spirit being broken.

* * *

**Those bruises don't betray  
Any violence on my part  
You've taken my possessions  
We're both dressed up like tarts  
But it's miserable and sluttish  
To be acting like I do  
In front of you**

* * *

"Spike?" 

Spike leaned over her limp form still resting in his arms to look into her face. She watched her fingers pluck at some lint from the carpet then slowly drop it back into place. Even though Spike didn't answer she had an acute sense that he was willing to listen to any stupid thing she had to say.

"Do you know anything about me? Like, really. Anything? I get mixed up sometimes. I get confused with what I've told you and what I wish I'd told you."

"I know enough," he said simply. She wasn't sure what he meant by that but she nodded anyways.

"I don't know anything about you," she said.

"You seem to be well aware I'm an asshole."

Faye smiled wearily, glad to hear him make a joke. She already felt stronger.

"What do you want to know?" he asked.

"What's your name?" she asked. Spike chuckled quietly.

"Spike Spiegel," he replied.

"Very funny."

"Samuel Spiegelman."

Faye closed her eyes and bit her lip.

"Fuck off," he said.

And then she actually laughed and she could have sworn his eyes were sparkling if she didn't more firmly believe that it was just the tears in her eyes making them look like that. He laughed, too, and she moved one of her hands to his waist and pulled herself into a sitting position with support from the folds in his shirt. Their eyes brushed against one another's and suddenly the laughter stopped.

Spike watched her with a look she wasn't too familiar with. One that suggested Spike didn't know what the hell to do next.

He looked almost scared. The muscles beneath her hand tensed and she frowned.

_Please, not again._

"Spike."

Spike shook his head and pulled away from her hand.

_Jesus Christ, not again._

"Jesus Christ, not again," she said aloud.

"No," Spike whispered, seeming resigned to an unspoken decision. "Never again. Never again..."

He closed the distance between them, lips finding hers, hands carefully cradling her face between them, a small gasp escaping him between the first and second meeting of their mouths as though he were kissing her, or anyone for that matter, for the first time.

Or for the last time.

Spike tore away from the kiss and said quickly, "I have to go, Faye."

Faye didn't immediately shout or swear at him as seemed to be her habit when he did this over and over and over again. The one thing those other times had been missing, she realized, was this apologetic look on his face as he spoke the words. There was no wall. In fact, he looked as though he might actually offer an explanation.

She watched and waited.

And it came faster than she'd expected it to.

"I'm really fucked up, Faye."

Faye smirked. "No!" shegasped with mock surprise.

"I'm fucked up and I can't guarantee that I won't hurt you again if we're together. And I made a promise to myself that I wouldn't do that again," Spike said as firmly as he could although he looked as though his legs were going to go out from under him at any given moment.

"Together?"

"But I can't keep away from you. It's like a fucking joke. First Julia and then you," he said desperately. Faye was grasping at snatches of words to catch up with Spike's train of thought. She was beginning to feel dizzy. And in this rushed process she found herself grasping the wrong word.

_Julia._

_Always Julia._

"Is it always going to be about Julia?" Faye whispered sharply. She stood now as well and moved deliberately towards him. This was normally when Spike's defense mechanisms coming into effect was almost tangible. But instead he backed up a few steps and looked into her eyes sadly.

"This isn't about Julia," he said. "It's about us."

Faye felt the anger from only half an hour earlier rising inside her again.

"No. It _is_ about Julia. It's always going to be about Julia. It's always going to be about you being afraid to either cheat on the memory of your Julia or you being afraid I'm going to get killed just like your Julia or you thinking you don't want to get hurt like you did by the death of your Julia. It's always about her whether you think so or not."

Faye didn't like to admit it. In actual fact, she felt her insides churn as though someone were twisting them mercilessly whenever she remembered that there was never going to be a chance at happiness with Spike because of that woman who she honestly had no reason to hate directly but still felt nothing least of the greatest contempt at the mention of her name.

"There is no _us,_" she said as she kept moving towards him with shoulders back and chin up defiantly. Her voice was strong and she suddenly felt very much like Faye Valentine again.

"There was never an_ us._ There was shouting and swearing and biting and fucking..."

Spike winced, seemingly hurt but Faye relentlessly pressed forward and soon had him trapped tightly between herself and the wall. "...but there was never an _us_."

"Okay. I deserve this. Say what you have to say," he said wearily, looking down at his boots. Faye's hand flew out and pushed his shoulder against the wall.

"You don't get to do that right now. You don't get to make like you're some sort of stellar-fucking-gentleman, okay? You don't give me permission to treat you like shit, just like you didn't wait for my permission to treat me like shit, understand? You don't get to come out of this like some goddamn martyr to romance. There was nothing romantic about this thing we had. You pushed me and pulled me around like a fucking blow-up doll. Like some sort of therapeutical tool some shrink gives you to develop anger management skills."

"_I love you_," he said firmly.

"You're a fucking liar," she replied flatly. She began to fumble with his trousers.

"Jesus, Faye! What the fuck are you doing?" He went to grab her arms but too quickly she had him in her hands and in her control.

He looked away from her, disgusted with his body's immediate and inevitable reaction whenever she came this close to him, even under circumstances such as these.

Faye was momentarily startled by his arousal and almost lost her nerve but she forced herself to continue to make her point, nearly forgetting what that was.

"This is why you came here, isn't it? This is why you'll keep comingaround until I make you stop," she held him firmly in one hand while her other hand reached up and fumbled with the buttons on her pyjama top.

Frustrated after only a few seconds, she jerked at the top and managed to rip it enough that the skin of her collarbone and shoulder was revealed. Spike hadn't moved until now, but finally he grabbed at her wrist, his fingers wrapping around it painfully as he tried to pull her off of him. Faye gasped at the pain and held tighter, squeezing with all her might. Spike moaned and let go of her.

"Faye..." he whispered, "Please, Faye. Please stop."

"Why? I thought this is what you wanted. We're fuck buddies, right? This is what fuck buddies do, isn't it?"

"I love you, Faye."

Faye fumbled momentarily and looked up at him. He was watching her sadly and not stopping it. The degradation and humiliation and physical pain. He was withstanding all of it to keep from hurting her.

He was keeping his promise.

"Stop saying that," she whispered desperately, looking away, watching her hand do its work.

"I won't. I love you," he said again.

"I said stop it..."

"I love you..."

"_Stop it!_" she cried. She pulled away from him but it was too late. He gasped and spilled, falling to his knees and her falling with him.

Their breaths left both of them ragged and they lay side by side as Spike slowly buttoned up his trousers. Faye gently pulled the severed piece of her pyjama top back together and began to sob quietly.

She felt Spike's fingers reach across the floor and wrap around hers carefully.

"I love you, too," she said.

* * *

**Lyrics from Hefner's A Better Friend and Good Fruit used. Don't sue.**


	33. Because that way you touch her, too

So it's only an interlude. I multi-tasked to get it done. It seems I have no time these days. 

I wrote this while cleaning the bathroom, changing the cat's litter, and doing dishes with my ears.

So basically, I'm saying this chapter sucks. I say that all the time, I know. And I usually mean it all the time, too. 

Defense mechanism perhaps? 

Methinks the answer be 'yes'.

But I'm putting my fingers into something that might turn out to be good in the next couple of chapters so I hope you all like the taste so far.

ssg.x.

  
  
  
  


_______________________________________________________

Wake up  
Don't fear  
I want to love you  
Yeah don't go there  
I let you get to me  
  
Come back  
Don't be afraid of me  
Soon  
That I'll harm you  
  
Come back  
Have faith  
Someone like you can find the reason  
Of what I did to you  
  
________________________________________________________

  
  


I can still feel this strange energy around her.

Even now.

She's asleep. Sound asleep, lightly snoring, face turned into the pillow, arms around it as though she had drifted off afraid someone would try to steal it from her.

Her face is smooth, not a single crease or hint of worry present, as though a bad thought hadn't ever entered her mind from the time she was born.

It makes me wonder if I'd imagined those times she woke up sobbing or shouting but I'm looking at my hand now and the cut I got days ago while picking up the pieces of the lamp she'd lobbed at my head was still there. Not nearly as angry. 

Fading. 

But still there.

I had my ideas why she accepted my dinner invitation that day. I knew she had questions that needed answers. But when I saw him, the man she calls 'Spike', it was like the sky had opened up and all this light filled the room and I completely understood. It wasn't just about the questions she had. We looked startlingly alike. I think I felt my stomach shift in a way that suddenly made me feel sick. 

This guy. 

This asshole.

He was the one she wanted when she woke up in the middle of the night. The lamp was meant for him. To hurt him.

Or get his attention.

And here I was standing in the same room with the two of them in what might as well have been a Halloween costume of the fucking rapist.

And that's when I realized that I didn't want to just 'keep an eye on her'. 

This energy that fills the room now...

It's so thick I think I could probably close my fingers around it if I wanted to. When I kissed her that first evening we had dinner together I hoped against hope I could consume only a taste of that energy. 

Just a little bit to keep me going longer. 

Life's been so dull. Such a letdown. This energy she gave off in even the simplest wave of her hand or tilt of her head... 

A single drop on my tongue could power the whole of the ghost town inside me.

But to my dismay, when I finally deemed it time for me to get my act together and kiss the girl, I felt as though she were dying in my arms. The energy was suddenly gone from her body. And I couldn't figure out why. First kisses are supposed to be transcendental, aren't they? Especially when you feel what I felt looking at her face for all those hours.

That energy.

That brilliant fucking energy.

This thing that surrounds us now.

It's what first drew me to her.

It's what made me take this job in the first place.

__________________________________________________________

++Lyrics taken from My Bloody Valentine's 'Soon'. Don't sue. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	34. Said You Never Loved Me

So I had originally planned to put the next few chapters together to make one longer one. These plans also included the previous chapter. Meh, what are you gonna do, right? I thought perhaps you'd be much happier if I updated with little bits more frequently rather than people having to wait until I get my ass in gear and write the next few chapters.

As usual, you guys are too, too nice to me. I can't thank you enough.

How long is this going to go on? I haven't the foggiest idea. This story has an ending already set in stone. But I can take my time getting there if that's your wish. If it isn't, you might want to let me know and give me a swift kick in the ass to get to the finish line faster. :)

ssg.x.

**boy  
stay  
don't be afraid  
don't walk away  
from a girl in love**

**she'll call your bluff  
and stay away  
until you say...**

**girl  
i think i can change  
i've learned just enough  
and I want to love**

**girl  
wait  
fate doesn't change  
i've made up my mind  
and i'll stay**

Faye thought Spike may have fallen asleep beside her here on the floor. The rest would certainly be welcome about now. Faye was tired. But more than that she felt dirty and ashamed and knew the only way she could escape that was through a dreamless sleep.

But delirious fucking happiness was enticing enough to keep her awake for a little while longer. He loved her. She was afraid to look over at him for fear she'd either burst into tears or giggle like a friggin' schoolgirl. Something told her Spike may not appreciate the latter.

"Spike..."

She heard his head roll heavily to the side.

"Are you alright?"

"You probably shouldn't ask me that right now," he said. Faye nodded to herself swallowing the lump in her throat as though it were guilt she could dissolve in the over-active acids in her stomach. She closed her eyes. The fingers she held so carefully tensed and pushed through hers, cradling her hand against his.

"I'm fine," he whispered. She felt his eyes on her and sighed shakily, still afraid to look at him before she could fully gauge her reaction.

_For fuck's sake, Faye. __Stop thinking. Just do it._

"What's so funny?" Spike asked. Faye made a lame attempt at sobering up and turned away.

"What's so funny?" He raised himself onto an elbow and grinned at her. Another guffaw escaped her and she rolled onto her side, pressing a hand to her lips. Spike grabbed her shoulders and pulled her back towards him.

"Come on! Tell me," he chuckled.

"No. It's stupid," she laughed.

"I already have pretty low expectations when it comes to you and talking. Does that make telling me any easier?" He struggled to pin her arms to the floor. She could have thrown him across the room if she wanted to, but she let him press her shoulders into the plush carpeting with barely a fight.

"Asshole," she squealed. When he started tickling her she threw her arms around herself and gasped, "Okay, okay...I'll tell you! Get off me!"

Spike sat back and smiled smugly, "Go on, then."

Faye took a deep breath and said casually, "So does this mean we're...together?"

Spike looked at her seriously for a moment. He sighed a little too deeply for Faye's liking as though he were thinking about it. Or perhaps thinking of a way to say 'no'. His gaze didn't waver, though, and in a moment he said, "Yeah. We're together."

Faye felt the muscles in her face relax all at once. She smiled. "So I'm sort of like your girlfriend now," she said teasingly.

"Fuck off," he snorted, pushing Faye over.

She got back up on her knees and leaned in close to whisper in his ear, "And that means you're my boyfriend."

"I said _fuck off_," Spike laughed, pinching her playfully.

"I can't wait to write it in my diary: Today my boyfriend, Samuel, asked me to go steady. He is _such_ a dreamboat.'"

"You are _such_ a bitch," he replied matter-of-factly.

She crawled out of his arm's reach and made a move to stand up but Spike was quicker and grabbed her ankle, hands slipping against her thighs as he grasped at her waist and pulled her back down to his lap and hard against his chest.

Immediately she heard him begin to whisper things into the soft skin of her neck. She felt him inhale intensely, the tip of his tongue brushed her earlobe as he licked his dry lips before continuing the onslaught of beautiful, nonsensical words. His arms tightened around her, his hands slipping beneath the torn pyjama top to run the calloused skin of his palms across her waist, over her breasts. It all made her so dizzy she had to strain and focus to hear the sounds he breathed against her. She would never hear them over the pounding of her blood in her ears, but she knew she'd never forget the voice that spoke them.

"Faye..." His hands slipped beneath the waistband of the pyjamas and over her hips. She rose to her knees and leaned back against him, arching her back and brazenly moving her hips forward to press against the palms of his tremulous hands.

"I don't want to hurt you," she breathed. She wondered for the split second before one of his hands dipped lower to capture one of her inner thighs if she should stop this.

"I don't want to hurt you either. I don't want to do this. I don't want to do this and you should probably stop me," he gasped. "I don't want you to think this is all I want. You should stop me. Faye? You should stop me..."

He squeezed her inner thigh and for a moment he was holding her tight enough to keep her from breathing before he tore himself away, fingernails that had been buried in the flesh of her leg almost took away some of her skin with their withdrawal.

Faye fell forward, catching herself with her hands against the plush carpeting. She looked back at Spike who was fast running out of breath.

"Spike..."

"Will you come with me? Will you come back to the ship?"

Faye nodded.

"Spike..." She began to crawl towards him. She saw Spike's hands clench into fists at his sides. Remembering that her pyjama top could no longer perform the simple duty of closing, she blushed and snatched the two pieces, holding them together. When she looked back up at Spike, he was straightening his trousers across his narrow hips and preparing to stand. His one good eye appeared full and dark. His lower lip trembled. He pulled his arms around himself, looking afraid to leave them to their own devices.

Faye's fingers reached for him.

"...I don't want to stop."

**Lyrics from Papas Fritas' _Girl _were used. Don't sue, please.**


	35. Fait Accompli

**You were always quiet  
I was always cold  
Walking there beside you  
Promises were gold  
So I moved a little closer  
But you took a step away  
And the world that was between us has gone away**

**Now a new voice guides me  
And on the way back home  
Everything behind me is turning into stone**

Three months later.

83 days, in actual fact.

He'd almost entirely disappeared off the face of the planet to a place where parts of her might also have been found.

Somewhere cold and dark, one could only guess.

She'd heard in a roundabout way that he'd completely dropped out of school. As a result, the building had become some sort of safe-house. Refuge.

While others, in the midst of such personal tragedy, would have let everything around them become a shambles, Faye was excelling in all her classes and applying to schools abroad. Schools she'd never have imagined she'd ever be considered by, let alone be considering. Her scores had always been great. Now they were phenomenal.

While her family and teachers were happy that her future seemed to be mapped out in only the brightest stars, they couldn't help but know that her future seemed to be the last thing on her mind. The only days ahead she seemed to care for were those that may occur as far away from here as possible.

So she locked herself away in classrooms and libraries. Her father's study where she occupied a corner on the long, leather couch bolstered by book cases, surrounded by applications and pamphlets for various universities and colleges as far as America, some in Australia. She'd pour over course calendars, what little remained of her heart warmed by the sounds of her father typing or conducting brief conference calls with an occasional glance over his shoulders and a small smile only she could understand and be somewhat comforted by.

Her mother tried to engage her in Ezekiel-related conversation only once.

Faye's mouth remained drawn and unyielding but all the while her eyes seemed to speak volumes.

Telling tales of a living dead girl.

A story so sad her mother couldn't bear to sit through it a second time.

So long ago, Faye gave up hating him. She gave it up for hating herself. And then she let all of it go at once like dry sand from her fingers taken away with winds of approaching summer. She mourned the loss of so much of herself that seemed to leave with the hate, with the memory of Ezekiel. It left behind only scraps of Faye, but enough of the shell of the girl she once was that she could still feel the heartbreak.

There was enough of her left behind to pack up and leave this place.

When Faye was awarded a memorial grant offered by the school board for top honours, her friends, whom she had sorely neglected these past couple of months, used this as an excuse to get her out to celebrate. She came up with every reason possible to stay in but her shriveled heart still had enough beats in it left to feel bad about shutting her friends out and punishing them for simply wearing the same uniform Ezekiel had worn.

She tried to smile for her friends as they played with her hair and tugged her chin about to line her eyes or redden her lips with various shades of lipstick, powders and paints. She felt so phony, the smile feeling like a waxy bit of a Halloween costume, but she guessed she was doing a good enough job at masking the inner turmoil, the anxiety attack she felt was brewing in her burning stomach at the thought of leaving her home and potentially running into Ezekiel.

When she peered at the flyer Agatha and Sally fought over to read the address of the bar they'd decided to hit, she could make out the names of several bands that would be playing that night to raise money for some college radio station. They all had ridiculous names like _Luscious LuLu_, _Dry Hump Sally_, _Spiderfarm_ and _Nadsat_.

Faye mentally prepared herself for a different kind of agony.

**Lyrics from Papas Fritas' _Beside You_ were used. Please don't sue.**


	36. You crawl through the window

No, meheeners, it isn't just because you're sick! You're absolutely right. The plot has been plodding along behind all the Spike/Faye/Ezekiel happenings. However, I did put in a lot of hints that should have moved the plot along at an excrutiatingly slow, but still moving, pace. I'm not entirely sure people have been spotting them, though. 

This leads me to believe I've made them far TOO subtle. Since I know what's going to happen I've probably written things in such a way that I'm being too cautious with giving away too much and instead I'm dropping hints that are far too cryptic for anyone to understand. It's my own stupid fault. :)

But I don't want to make any assumptions. I'm curious to hear any theories or ideas you guys might have about what's going on. If you have picked up any hints, perhaps you could let me know which ones. I'm sort of flying blindly through all this and I don't want to bore or frustrate you people into avoiding my writing like the plague.

Did anyone else read that series 'Fearless' by Francine Pascal? Last night I was thinking about how I stopped reading after No. 20 or 21 because it seemed to be going on forever and I couldn't figure out how the main character could be so stupid when she was supposed to be a genius. 

When I read meheeners' review, it totally punched me in the stomach. Dear, God! I'm turning into Francine Pascal!

So I'm begging you all...Help!

Here's the next chapter that was bumped up for our poor, sick friend! :) Hopefully I don't upset the flow. But I think meheeners, and all of you for that matter, deserve some plot development! 

Feel better!

ssg.x.

  
  


____________________________________________________

I hardly know which way is up  
Or which way down  
People are strange God only knows  
I feel possessed when you come round  
People are strange  
I feel possessed when you come round  


____________________________________________________

The large man with the one arm entered the room with a strange look in his eyes. He nodded silently at him before tentatively approaching Faye's small, still body in the hospital bed. 

Roscoe suddenly felt as though he didn't exist. The tin man and the sleeping girl seemed worlds away from him.

Roscoe worried momentarily that he might be a relative. He suspected this through his silent observations of the concern on the man's face. Fatherly almost. The jerky movements. The fingers of his good hand clumsily, but gingerly, reaching out to smooth the hospital sheets bunched up and twisted about her tiny waist as she slept.

Roscoe felt silly when he remembered this man was far too young to be a relative of hers. 

He was becoming paranoid. He had to stay focused. 

It was too soon for relatives and the original plan already had so many bends and bumps in the road he worried this latest one might be the one that would fuck things up beyond repair.

The one that would demonstrate his expendability.

Still. It would be somewhat of a relief. 

He had taken the job on a lark. He had wanted the excitement. It would have been his greatest role yet.

But she wasn't supposed to show up at his door that night.

That was not part of the plan. As it turned out, they found it to be convenient. He could keep an eye on her. She had nowhere else to turn so eventually she'd spill some of her secrets. In a way she had inadvertently saved his life. 

Well, that's what he believed, anyways. 

If he had become useless to them, he wasn't entirely sure they wouldn't kill him. He had originally thought he was helping with some sort of police investigation but as he got deeper and deeper into this he suspected he may be batting for the wrong team.

When she disappeared after that night, he was terrified they'd come for him. He had failed. He'd watched -- hell, he'd STARRED in enough spy movies to know the operatives always died once they'd become useless to the mission. Maybe he was blowing this whole thing out of proportion. Maybe this whole situation wasn't nearly as dire as he was making it out to be. 

For what felt like eons he'd felt as though he were walking on eggshells. And when he was finally contacted, in a fit of crippling fear he suggested he'd throw a party at his place and invite some of the cast and crew members in the hopes that she would be curious enough to come out and make another attempt at getting more answers. He thought he might be able to think of a way out of this before the event actually took place.

He would never know if that was meant to be the night he died.

The hours crawled farther and farther away from any chance she might show up that evening and just when Roscoe was beginning to contemplate ways of getting out of that apartment and off this planet alive, she fell into his lap like a gift from God. 

Or the devil. He still wasn't sure whose side he was on.

And they were pleased.

And that bought him more time.

Roscoe could breathe a little easier for a while.

And then Spike.

Spike was not part of the plan.

But lucky for Roscoe, this particular bump in the road might actually work to his advantage.

He had his ideas as to why Faye was unconscious when he found her. He was almost certain he had managed to successfully pull off at least part of his assignment. 

But all the other things. That man. His hands grasping her wrists. Her top ripped open and hanging from her limp, exposed form. The bruises and...

Roscoe felt his stomach heave when he thought about it. 

When he thought about her being hurt or scared or sad. 

When he thought of what he himself was doing to her. 

What he was going to have to do to her.

That was another thing.

He wasn't supposed to care about that girl so damn much.

That was most definitely not part of the plan.

__________________________________________________________

++Lyrics taken from 'I Feel Possessed' by Crowded House

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	37. I can see you with my eyes closed

So I've been getting e-mails from both sides of the Movie/Faye-Spike debate. 

I think it's safe to say the movie plot has always been secondary - even in third place perhaps - to the Spike/Faye relationship and now Faye's past with Ezekiel. I have no problem admitting that! The last chapter actually made its appearance a lot earlier than it was supposed to, so the flow did get disturbed and I'm unhappy about that. However, in the end I'm glad I moved it because its abrupt, and rather unwelcome (by some) presence, has bought me a lot more time to return to my slower 'flow'. I think the hints to the plot will be easier to spot now and the pace won't seem to drag the way it seems to have for some people.

So Roscoe the bad guy. Predictable? Yes, Rashaka. Very. :) But you guys shouldn't worry too much. Between my penchant for constantly changing my mind, my housefly-like attention-span and my severe short-term memory loss I might still be able to surprise you all.

Thanks for the constructive criticism. You guys really are too goddamn nice to me. Even your criticism makes me all gooey inside.

Oh, FUCK, that sounded gross.

ssg.x.

ps. Still working on the site and wondering what you'd like to see on it (or if you'd like to see a site at all)...It's going to take a while since my schedule is pretty freaking nuts right now, but I thought a nice idea might be to just have a url for now that links to an mp3. Most likely the songs I use for the openings of the chapters. Let me know what would get you guys to visit li'l ol' me and I'll get my sloth-like ass in gear for you and speed up the appearance of the site. Again, thanks so much for reading. :)

___________________________________________________

You don't know 

What you've done to me

With that voice 

With those eyes 

With that smile

With that smell

Oh, tonight you're going nowhere

You are lying here with me

Oh, tonight your skin is warm enough 

To rid this chill in me

So open up your eyes

Open up your mouth

Let me kiss your forehead 

Now the night has fallen down   


__________________________________________________

Spike couldn't remember any favourite books from when he was a kid.

These days he liked Graham Greene. A few months ago he'd managed to lock himself up for a couple of hours in the tub with Timothy Findley's 'The War'. He was shivering and wrinkled when he finally got out. It had been some time since he'd been able to finish a book in one sitting that way. 

He couldn't think of any kid books he'd enjoyed, though. 

Oh, wait. There was that one book about the kid in the Old West who gets trapped on top of some barn or silo or something with no water or food and he ends up keeping himself from getting thirsty by sucking on a rock. Spike remembered thinking that was a pretty good book. Funny, though, how all he could remember about it was that bit about the rock. Probably because he thought it was a good survival tip that might come in handy some day.

Jesus, he was a stupid kid.

That unicorn book.

His mother used to read this book to him about this unicorn that gets turned into a human by mistake and there was this bull that was after her. Spike never had a thing for all that fantasy crap. But his mum had a thing for those sorts of books and he wasn't about to begrudge her those attempts at bringing a little magic into her only child's life.

He also liked the way she smelled when she came into his room to read with him. It was the cream she'd put on her face before bed. And her housecoat was warm when she curled her body around his, arms hugging him in her lap as she held the book out in front of them.

He remembered she used to make up little tunes for all the different poems and stuff in the book. And there were lots of them. So many that she never sang the same tune for the same song twice. Except for one. There was one that was her favourite and it always had the same tune. 

Why was he thinking about all this stuff right now, anyways?

The tune faintly came to memory for a few seconds and he remembered a couple of lines only just this moment. 

"Love may be strong, but a habit is stronger, and I knew when I loved by the way I behaved."

Spike smiled to himself in the crook of Faye's neck and shoulder. 

That was kind of romantic. 

He toyed with the idea of saying it aloud for about a split second and then almost laughed when he realized how out of character that would be. But the fact that he'd thought about it for even a moment both pleased him and frightened him almost as much as it would have had he spoken the lines to her with his own two lips.

He felt himself changing now and it scared him beyond measure but he couldn't keep from touching her. He kissed her as though he couldn't be sure he was doing it correctly. Gentle, silken kisses against her parted lips. Her eyelids and cheekbones. The warmest, softest place beneath her ear, occasionally, because he shivered inside when she sighed.

He was still throbbing painfully from her earlier assault on him but despite this his hips moved slowly against the slight curve of her belly as his mouth parted further, collapsing into the pool of her gentle gasps and warm breath. 

Faye toyed with the waist of Spike's trousers when he lifted his pelvis, adjusting himself so that he lay impossibly close, framed by her warm, still pyjama-clad thighs. She brought a knee up around him, cradling his hips against her own. 

The bed creaked softly beneath her careful ministrations and Spike could feel what could only be compared to thousands of flames licking their way down his spine and into his legs when her mouth and nose left his, accidentally brushing against his ear, singing along the line of his neck, as she pressed a heel into the bed in an attempt to pull them both up further onto the mattress. Once her heels were on the bed, he felt the bed dip the tiniest bit as she began to use her newly acquired leverage to press against him even harder. 

He groaned into her hair and clutched her face between two tremulant hands. He opened his eyes unconsciously and found himself staring into hers. Green like absinthe and just as effective. He felt his chest seize and sought to relieve the impact on his heart by looking away but he felt her voice on either side of his head, holding it in place as though it were flesh and bone and he found he couldn't move.

"Don't."

Spike's eyes narrowed as though he were staring into the sun. This was different from the last time their eyes met this way. That day he was consumed with hate and his bullshit idea of duty and closure. 

But now.

Now he was being consumed by Faye.

He couldn't see her right in front of his face that day. 

He was looking straight into her eyes but not seeing a fucking thing. 

She had drawn back, he remembered, but she never looked away. Not for a second. He wondered if that's when she began to love him. If she could have loved him at such a time when his heart was so shrunken and selfish and screwed up, she was even more remarkable than he thought he'd realized so many days before. 

He wondered if she could see inside him then the way he knew she must be now. He felt so exposed he wouldn't have been surprised to look down at himself and see his soul pinned to his shirtfront. 

As though Faye were answering his question, she leaned in closer, two eyes becoming one large glowing jewel in the middle of her forehead when Spike became dizzy with the heady scent of her. All-encompassing. All-encumbering. The only word he knew at that moment was her name.

"Faye..." He breathed.

"I've never seen you before," She said, touching his lips to silence him. "Let me look for a bit."

For the first time since he could remember, they were silent with eyes on eachother. Pouring into eachother. 

Spike didn't realize how violently he was shivering until he felt her hand on the small of his back willing him to keep still. Her other hand felt timid and nervous at the waist of his pants. Still her eyes stayed on his. She began to breathe heavily like he was already moving inside her. Her small mouth pouty and swollen. A tear slipping alongside the bridge of her nose on her impossibly perfect face. He thought he could hear music but he was sure he must have imagined it.

His hand closed around hers and he saw the apprehension and self-reproach in her eyes before he guided her hand gently to work on the zipper, raising himself to accommodate the suddenly awkward fingers between them.

Funny, but ever since Spike woke up dreams just didn't seem to cut it anymore.

_________________________________________________________

++Quote taken from Peter S. Beagle's 'The Last Unicorn'. Lyrics taken from Hefner's 'Love Inside the Studfarm'. Don't sue. I have to get my cat neutered soon and I'm a little short on cash right now.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	38. The death of the party

Yikes.

ssg.x.

**The death of the party  
Came as no surprise  
Why did we bother  
Should've stayed away  
Another night  
And I thought  
"Well, well"  
Go to another party  
And plant myself  
Gently on the shelf**

Faye felt like someone had their bitter, ginger-soaked hands in her throat. She'd never drank before and she decided after her first few sips of gin and tonic that she'd never drink again. What the hell was gin made out of anyways? She hadn't a clue and she guessed by the sour looks on Sally and Agatha's faces they hadn't any idea either when they'd ordered the drinks.

"I don't know. My father always orders these at weddings," Sally explained before grimacing and diving in for another sip. Faye stared into her glass disdainfully before setting in on the small table the girls huddled around, pushing it away with two shaking fingers. Agatha watched Faye silently for a moment. Faye hadn't turned away from the wall since they'd found this table almost an hour ago.

"I didn't know." Agatha squeezed her arm, offering comfort and wishing she didn't have to speak so loudly. Even between bands they felt they had to shout their communications.

"I know."

"Do you want to leave?"

"No," Faye replied firmly.

"Faye, honestly, we can go to my place and watch movies or something. Or we can go get some ice cream and hang out at the park," Sally offered.

Faye shook her head. The girls couldn't see her face long enough under the crazy lights to read her expression. However when she finally looked them directly in their guilt-stricken faces, the last thing either of them expected was the smile tacked onto her pale face, beneath strange, unfocused eyes.

Sally was the first one to realize she was looking right past them.

Partly shrouded by a moss-green curtain that acted as a partition separating backstage from the rest of the bar was Ezekiel. His booted feet hovered off the ground, the chair he sat on tilted back against the wall. He cradled his bass guitar between his chest and his raised knees.

"Asshole," she muttered under her breath. He looked so casual. So over it. Her best friend had been barely a ghost of herself all these weeks and he was out drinking and playing his music like Faye hadn't even been a blip on his radar. When he looked up, finally aware of Faye's presence, Sally had to control the urge to spin her around and march her out of that place. She looked away with an almost audible grunt of disgust.

When she surveyed the rest of the room she noticed a dark-haired boy across the room watching the group of girls intently. Sally caught his eye and smiled coyly, bravely nodding towards Faye. The boy's smile grew wider, accompanied by a short nod. Sally nodded back, returning to her small circle of friends with a small smile of her own. She took one of Faye's cold, sweating hands. She'd help her friend out of this low.

Agatha watched Faye. The phony smile on her face and the dead eyes changing colours as the different lights in the room moved over her. She hated herself for having ever liked Ezekiel. For thinking he was good for Faye. He brought her out of her shell only to force her back in so much further than before Agatha feared she may never find her way out again. She hated him for making Faye leave. She hated him for making these last few months she had with her friend so sad. She always figured they'd lose touch eventually, but Agatha felt they'd lost touch months ago. She hated him for that, too.

"I don't want to leave," Faye said. Agatha sighed.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Aggie, I have to do this." She reached up and touched the hand still on her shoulder.

Sally suddenly came to life, grabbing Faye's hand and whirling her around. "I think she's right. She needs to stay. We're gonna show that dickhead and we're gonna have a great time!"

With that, the two girls were gone.

Agatha didn't move. With Sally out of her eyeline she could see Ezekiel leaning back against the wall on a shoddy wooden chair with his guitar on his lap. He looked so defeated and, if it was even possible, skinnier than before. Tilted back in that chair with his knees so close to his face he almost looked as though he were curled into some sort of upright foetal position, Agatha remarked to herself.

As Faye trailed after Sally, Agatha could see his dark eyes following her through the throngs of people until she disappeared into the darkness. He looked back at Agatha and smiled sadly as a means of acknowledging her. Agatha raised some fingers in the form of a limp wave, trying to muster up a smile for him. Any hate she had for him dissipated into the atmosphere like all the cigarette smoke around her and she turned away, embarrassed, sure he could see her heart breaking for him.

When she looked back the old wooden chair lay on its side on the floor and Ezekiel was gone.

**Every day there is some kind of darkness  
****That just won't go away no matter how hard I try  
****It crawls into your system while your guard is down  
****Becomes the ball that you drag around to  
****Every party  
****To every function  
****To give to people with written instructions**

Faye, Sally and the dark-haired boy danced.

She moved slowly, rolling her shoulders back, eyes closed, hips swaying and felt his eyes on her. She hiccuped a small sob but never stopped dancing. Not for a second although it felt like knives were lodging themselves in the flesh of her legs and feet as she spun around, pausing awkwardly for a moment when she felt the boy's hands on her hips pushing against her, encouraging the sluttish display she was putting on.

She let her arms fly to the ceiling as though propelled by the force of her turns and sighed feeling her sickness acutely within every inch of her. Perhaps the cyclone created by her whirling body would spin every bad thought, every awful feeling, right out of her being and clear into space.

She felt the force of his mouth against hers. The boy's tongue forced itself roughly into her mouth and she felt her stomach heave either from revulsion or motion sickness. Instinctively she leaned forward, arms grasping him for support for fear she'd fall to the ground.

The boy took this as an invitation to begin groping her. His hands clumsily fumbled against the fabric of the t-shirt she wore. She felt one hand begin to violate her thigh, kneading it painfully, making it's way not-so-slowly under the waist of her jeans. She moaned a weak protest when he swung her light and light-headed body towards the nearest wall. She wondered in a haze of confusion where Sally had gone. Wondering why she felt so physically drained all of a sudden. Why she didn't protest when she felt his teeth tear at her earlobe as though he were going to devour the soft bit of flesh.

He began to gnaw greedily on her neck and shoulder and Faye resigned herself to what was happening. Ezekiel was in this room letting this happen. Did he stop caring about her the moment he crossed her threshold out into the open air that day that seemed so long ago now? Did he ever care? Faye felt her face finally collapse under the weight of her phony disposition, felt the tears come, felt her knees buckle.

Quite suddenly she was falling.

The boy didn't hold her up this time.

She suddenly felt Sally's arms around her waist. She could see Agatha's mouth opening and closing as she knelt in front of her crumpled form but no sound came of it. She let Agatha grab her hands, paw her face, they were so warm she was afraid she'd melt.

She couldn't hear anything and she felt herself slipping into unconciousness again. She lay languidly in Sally's arms and let the sleep come. She needed it so.

She felt herself pulled forward by a violent force and on opening her eyes found herself staring into Ezekiel's. She blinked fiercely and sighed something between a sob and a gasp.

"Faye...Jesus, Faye." He held her face towards him and ducked his head this way and that to see into her eyes. "Are you okay? Faye?"

He sounded so far away, like he was calling to her from the end of a very long hallway, but she knew his touch. She knew his hands, his beautiful perfect hands, against her wet face and she begged silently for him to breathe some life back into her. She only needed a little to enjoy this moment a few minutes longer.

**I see her face  
Everyday  
I see her face  
It doesn't help me**

**She's so high  
She's so high  
I want to crawl all over her**

**I think of her  
Everyday  
I think of her  
It doesn't help me  
****She doesn't help me**

Agatha watched as the boy pushed her against the wall. She thought that maybe this was Faye's way of getting back at Ezekiel. She looked back towards the curtain that lead to backstage but he hadn't shown his face there since he'd seen Faye wander off with Sally.

He was up on stage. His band was playing some cover of some old song. He made little use of the microphone in front of him and she could see his long fingers moving over the strings of his bass jerkily. Clearly his attention was elsewhere. Agatha knew she only had to follow the line of his vision to relocate her friends.

Agatha was captivated by the sight of his grief running amuck his thin frame like a rampant skin disease. His eyes looked so dull. His skin so sallow.

He looked like Faye.

When Agatha looked over at Faye again, beginning to feel a twang of anger towards her for being so insensitive of Ezekiel's feelings, she recognized the look of distress on Faye's face immediately.

This wasn't a trick to make him jealous.

The boy was hurting her.

Agatha fought to make her way to Faye through the crowd. She came to an unintentional full-stop running into a group of university students whose senses were too dulled by alcohol to differentiate Agatha's cries of panic from all the other shouting and screaming. She looked desperately up at Ezekiel but he was gone. She didn't have a moment to spare to realize the music had abruptly stopped.

When Agatha finally reached Faye, managing to slip more easily through the crowd once the confusion set in, she could see that Ezekiel had beaten her to the punch. He stumbled to his knees and grasped her hands into his, dragging her by her shoulders towards him, holding her into the blue and red lights that seemed so much harsher now that the crowd had backed away with the urging of security to leave the four of them alone in this strange arena of jealous lovers and broken hearts.

Five of them.

In Agatha's hurry to see if her friend was alright she barely noticed the dark-haired boy lying several feet away from them with a gaping head wound and several teeth missing.

The crowd was already fighting over who got to keep Ezekiel's guitar which was discovered only inches away from the boy in two pieces on the dirty, bloody floor.

**Lyrics quoted from Blur's _Death of the Party _and _She's So High, _and Curve's _Fait Accompli._ Don't sue, please.**


	39. My lack of natural lustre

________________________________________________

Take me home

Don't leave me alone  
I'm not that good

But I'm not that bad  


________________________________________________

Ana practically jogged after Jet. Several times in the past thirty minutes alone she tried to wheeze out the suggestion she head home but Jet was moving from place to place like a pinball on a winning streak without the vaguest sign of stopping for miles.

She wondered if she was following him around out of concern for him or for herself.

She still wasn't completely understanding the situation and she was pretty surprised at her lack of curiosity. 

Ana, on a good day, was all about the gossip.

More to the point - she was all about the suffering.

She enjoyed seeing or hearing about it on other people. Ana wasn't stupid. She knew it was because she was pretty fucking unhappy with her life. Alright. But who isn't? So she gets a little surge of joy from watching something shitty happen to someone else for a change. Shit, that's what movies and television are all about, isn't it?

So she was working in the right field of profession. At the very least she had that going for her.

She liked this guy.

She liked him and she didn't want bad things to happen to him.

Jesus.

It's just so...

Normal.

She knew she liked him from almost the first moment they met. He had this look about him. This nice-guy look that he seemed desperate to hide beneath the torn t-shirt and the massive work boots and kneepads. 

What the hell was up with all the football equipment, anyways? 

She knew all along he wasn't one of the actors. The frayed edges of his shirt looked more eroded than torn. The artificial arm not even the greatest of computer-generated special effects could make more realistic, the stains in his clothes, on his skin... Even the lines in his face all suggested a hard life's worth of working up to this man standing here now. None of this could be imitated with make-up, or costumes. Not even the best of it. 

Ana watched him move through the set with a very awkward nonchalance that only she seemed to be aware of. And that immediately connected her to him.

She had been moving that way her entire life.

As she stood here now, watching him gently approaching the hospital bed his friend, so small and thin and beautiful, currently rested on, she thought about the heavy navy blue, turtleneck sweater she currently wore even though it was so warm outside it had been slowly suffocating her all day. 

The grey, wool skirt and the thick, black tights and the clunky, black army boots. She was certainly not dressed like any Mae Ballantyne. Not by a long shot. 

But she liked this guy. She really liked him. And she didn't want him to know that her legs hadn't seen the sun in over a thousand years, or that her breasts had gone in for retirement at an unheard of thirty-five years old. What if he found out her ass and belly were mushier than oatmeal and that she had thighs that looked like they belonged on a mule with ankles thick as soupcans?

She tugged at the sweater around her hips and huffed uncomfortably. Maybe she'd sweat off twenty pounds or so and make a pass at him by sunset. Stupid, goddamn sweater. Ugh. And these tights...

I guess I have my own football equipment on, she thought wryly.

______________________________________________________

This is a low  
But it won't hurt you.  
When you're alone  
It will be there with you.  


_______________________________________________________

Jet blinked when he finally noticed the man seated in the chair in the corner of the room as he walked carefully towards Faye's bedside. 

The man looked a lot like Spike. Not so much that under normal circumstances, Jet wouldn't have been able to tell the difference between them. But with his mind on so many other things right now he was thrown off guard and if his brain hadn't've worked faster than his mouth this time he probably would have asked how the hell Spike had managed to get out of Ana's car and sneak into the hospital to end up in Faye's room in the short amount of time it took Jet to ask about her whereabouts at the front desk and take the elevator up here.

The man looked as though he'd been here all night. The way he was settled in the chair, the crumpled suit identical to Spike's, his legs relaxed and stretched in front of him, all of this suggested he'd been here so long he'd already done all the worrying and the comforting necessary and now he was just waiting for sleep to take him.

Jet stood at the foot of her bed, his tall frame leaning forward to adjust her bedsheets like a mother would. Without a mind behind it but simultaneously unaware of the heart that held its place.

Faye stirred and Jet straightened, sorry he'd done anything. Cursing under his breath for waking her.

Faye yawned, the smallest mewl of a sound escaping her throat, and her hands crept from beneath her pillow to sweep the sleep from her eyes. She turned to look up at the hulk of a man standing above her bed.

"Jet?" She mouthed the word more than spoke it. Her eyes were wet and heavy with tears and the crushing sensation of just waking to a world you were terribly sorry to be in. Jet, himself, was frequently familiar with the latter feeling. Still, he managed a smile for the poor girl.

"We have to stop meeting like this." He said.

Faye smiled back sadly.

_____________________________________________________

I feel beautiful

When you say

I am beautiful

But you

Are more beautiful

_____________________________________________________

Ana looked across the room at Roscoe and nodded. He raised several fingers, waving tiredly, recognizing Ana from the set. She shuffled her boots and wrung her hands together, feeling like an intruder. She didn't want to leave without saying good-bye to Jet.

She didn't want to leave.

He had all of the information she could give him regarding the film and Akaido. They were both aware of this. Would he bother coming to find her again? That night in the bar. Did that make them friends now? He had slept on her couch last night. 

He'd seen her in her bathrobe. In her books that made them practically engaged.

She could tell that the girl, Faye, cared very much for him. Her eyes, though sad and tired, still shone at the first sight of him. She watched the slight girl raise herself into a sitting position, balancing on her thin arms. 

She couldn't help but notice how pretty her mouth was. Small and soft-looking and very pink even without a lick of lipstick. Standing here, nearly six feet away from her, Ana reluctantly admitted to herself that she had gorgeous eyes. 

Green and striking. 

Ana unconsciously removed her glasses and began polishing the lenses vigorously with the hem of her sweater. She replaced them, pushing them up as far as they'd go on the bridge of her nose and further than that, hurting herself on purpose. Punishing herself for having to wear the ugly things. She could easily have laser-surgery done on her eyes so she'd never have to wear glasses again. But she had convinced herself years ago that the glasses made her look smarter. 

Who was she kidding? She wore them because she thought they might make her face more interesting. Something to focus on other than how round her face was or how dull her brown eyes were behind the brown, plastic frames.

This is never going to happen. He doesn't even know I'm here for fuck's sake. I'm being stupid and desperate and...

Ana's vision blurred despite the now miraculously pristine lenses before her eyes. Her fingers slipped across the moisture gathering at the bottoms of the frames and she realized she was making herself cry with all this self-examination.

She liked him. 

She liked him so much.

She turned towards the door.

"This is Ana."

Ana paused in the doorway.

She turned back to look at Jet. A small, slightly amused smile played across the pretty girl's face.

"Hello, Ana." She said quietly, still smiling.

Ana reddened. She didn't think it was possible but she felt even warmer than before. 

"Hello, Faye."

When she looked back at Jet she could see a quiet blush creeping across his face as well.

Ana was suddenly glad for the accursed glasses presently throbbing against her nose. 

She wouldn't have wanted to miss his eyes on her right now for the universe.

______________________________________________________

++Lyrics taken from Blur's 'On Your Own', Hefner's 'I Took Her Love For Granted' and Blur's 'This is a Low'...don't sue, please. :S

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	40. When you wake You're still in a dream

An interlude.

I hope you guys don't feel too ripped off by this. The next installment is actually going to be a proper chapter. I promise.

No, really. I do.

ssg.x.

* * *

**There's closets in my head  
Where dirty things are kept  
That never see the light of day  
I want to drag them out  
Go for a walk  
Just to see the look  
That's on your face  
Sometimes I can't be straight  
I don't want to hurt you  
So forgive me if I tell a lie  
Sometimes I come on cold  
But don't believe it  
I will love you till the day I die**

* * *

He could believe he was anyone else in the universe besides Spike Spiegel this very moment. 

Spike Spiegel died from multiple bullet and knife wounds almost four months ago. A long and impressively clean line across his belly that had nearly opened him up like a can of tuna.

He died at the hands of his former friend. His closest friend. The kind of friend you'd die for.

The kind of friend he died for.

He died with the whisper of a girl on his lips. A pretty woman possessing an almost unreal beauty, one too great for such a simple and cliched story. A face that could launch a thousand ships.

Or just two.

Straight for each other.

Spike Spiegel fell into death as though succumbing to exhaustion. A long day finally over and happy the job was done.

And far beyond his highest expectations.

The score settled with his former friend, more recently his fiercest enemy.

And he loved the girl until the day he died.

Just like he was supposed to.

And this made him smile.

And then

**BANG.**

He was dead.

He could believe he was anyone else but Spike Spiegel this very moment.

As strongly as he could have once believed the one to roll back the stone from his tomb would be anyone but Faye Valentine.

* * *

**Harder you come down on me  
Sink away  
You look happily  
Secrets keep forever  
They're undressing me  
Soft as snow  
But warm inside  
Penetrate  
You cannot hide  
Feeling lost forever  
Really need you  
Touch your head  
Then your hair  
Softer  
Softer everywhere**

* * *

"Jesus..." 

His head tilted back, jaw tensed, and his fingers clutched at the pale flesh enveloping his hips, drawn taut and slick with sweat from the girl's exertions as she moved above him. She suddenly straightened, her pelvis jerking forward startling them both, and he felt himself slipping closer to her soul than he thought was even possible.

He fought the urge to pull her against his chest, his ribs barely holding back a heart not used to this kind of fear. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, threading them tight enough about her slight torso that he could pull her clear through the wall of flesh separating her from all the things he couldn't say.

But the euphoric culmination of agony and rapture being driven against him now prevented him from making any moves that might disturb its rhythm.

All he could do was lie back and let her do her work on him.

She was making him hers.

* * *

**Lyrics taken from Crowded House's _Love You 'Til The Day I Die_ and My Bloody Valentine's _Soft As Snow (But Warm Inside)_...don't sue...please.**


	41. I've got hope and I've got hate

no, fallen angel, my dear, i haven't forgotten about the movie plot. :)

it's funny, because everyone asks me that and all these past several chapters have been an actual part of the movie plot but you don't know it yet that's my fault, by the way... i promise you, it'll all make sense eventually. i've been working up to the plot lines starting to bleed into each other for a while now...hopefully it all works out. :)

damn...i think this is one of the longest chapters i've posted yet! woo-ha!

ssg.x.

* * *

**I don't want to be faded skin  
I don't want to fade out  
I want to fade in  
And I don't want to be a faded memory  
All I want is to be me**

* * *

Faye returned to school exhausted after three days of bed 'rest' feeling no better but having lied otherwise to her parents. She needed to get out of the house and get her mind off of what happened and she couldn't do that while being smothered by various bouquets of flowers and tins of candy sent to her by different teachers, relatives, and friends from school.

She knew candy and flowers were the going rate for gossip.

The incident at the show appeared on the local news by sunrise and while Faye's identity was kept anonymous in the reports, Ezekiel's wasn't, and everyone knew the only person on earth he'd commit such a violent act for was Faye Spector.

She pretended she cared when the anchorwoman announced that the dark-haired boy, whose name remained undisclosed, was going to be alright, although short four teeth and the recent recipient of a combined 667 stitches in his head and ear.

Ezekiel wouldn't be able to experience his new celebrity status immediately. He was taken in by the police straight after the ambulance arrived at the venue for the two casualties.

Faye heard from Sally the next day that he struggled and swore all the way to the car, begging to accompany the ambulance to the hospital.

She hadn't seen or heard from him since the incident.

The last exchange she remembered having with him before blacking out again was a very sad excuse for a lovers' reunion.

"I'm sorry," Ezekiel said quietly, and quite desperately, eyes straight on hers, seeing straight into her while prohibiting her from seeing inside his.

"I'm sorry."

Faye wanted him back. She didn't want to get over him. She didn't want to leave the country. She didn't want to leave this room as long as he was still in it.

"I love you," she finally spoke, the sudden avidity in her voice appeared to jar him. His eye contact wavered. He turned away, laying the hands he'd been holding gently in her lap.

"I'm sorry for that, too," he said.

After a torturous first day back at school, most of which was spent almost evenly between the girls' bathrooms on the second and third floors, Faye found she had nowhere left to go.

She found herself wandering aimlessly, lazily, towards the general area of her house but, reluctant to go home, ended up instead at the park. She plopped herself down on a swing, dropping her schoolbag in front of her, and surveyed her surroundings. She was mildly pleased that today it looked much like an ordinary park.

Like any other park.

She hung forward on the chains, swinging at its minimum, shuffling her feet in the gravel beneath her worn out school shoes, and began to sing quietly to herself.

_"Think of her. Every day. Think of her..."_

She stopped abruptly, swearing under her breath.

_That song._

She hauled her weight back on the swings and came forward with enough force to barely sate her frustration with a strong kick to her school bag. It skidded towards the edge of the path that ran along the circumference of the park. She closed her eyes against the sun as it took its last few breaths before setting.

When she opened her eyes, Ezekiel was standing not ten feet away, holding tightly to the handles of her schoolbag with both hands.

* * *

**I'm tripping into the back of my mind  
And your words like angels crash inside  
And a word and a movement and a touch  
And a word and a movement and it's all too much  
It's all too much**

* * *

He didn't move.

She couldn't move.

"You're out," she said. "How?"

Ezekiel's shoulders jerked in the form of an awkward shrug that failed quite abysmally at nonchalance.

"I don't know." He was staring at his fingers. They tightened further around the handles. He looked up finally, apologetically. "I didn't think you'd be here."

"I live right over there," she replied, not realizing before she'd uttered the statement how ridiculous it was.

They watched eachother for what seemed like years. Faye clutching the chains of the swing with such conviction her knuckles were nearly as white and knotted as the hands that held onto her schoolbag.

"Are you feeling any better?" Ezekiel asked.

"That's a stupid question," she snapped without meaning to. A dark shadow seemed to cross between the two at the mention of the word _stupid_ but Faye's expression remained stoic. Uncaring.

Faye was a smart girl. If he could hurt her so easily, she could easily learn to reciprocate.

"I know we're both wrecked right now but you'll see -"

"Shut up."

* * *

**I can't follow what I don't believe in  
And that's why there's nothing left of me  
'Cause I don't believe in you**

* * *

Ezekiel was almost unaware she'd said anything. She'd spoken the two words so quietly and so close to her chest he'd barely heard them. What interrupted his thought were her eyes on him, heavy and unyielding. Uncomfortably cold.

"You're a mean and dirty son of a bitch, you know that? Why'd you even bother talking to me that day if I was so much better than you? This is supposed to be for my own good, huh? Well, look at all the_ 'good'_ things that have happened to me lately. And I have you to thank for that."

Like acid in his face she spat the word: "Thanks."

Ezekiel did and said nothing. If Faye had cared enough at this point to look carefully, she may have noticed his long, white hands flexing and unflexing across the handles of the schoolbag still in his possession. She may have noticed his eyes, dark and wet beneath his strange and ungovernable hair.

"I'm sorry."

"I don't care anymore."

"Faye -"

"_I. Don't. Care_." Each word bitten off, chewed and changed between clenched teeth before becoming the following.

Ezekiel felt himself sway to one side when she abruptly looked away from him like a wall he'd been leaning on had given without warning. He used the momentum created by the unrehearsed movement to return her bag to the space by her feet.

Faye stood abruptly from the swing, the chains jerking, the links clinking, her shoes scraping against the gravel as she swooped to pick up the schoolbag. Every sound amplified a thousand times against the silence around them. The park, long deserted, darker now that the sun had dipped below the line of the trees and lights in houses dimmed for after dinner chat between husbands and wives, bedtime stories for children.

"I hate you."

Ezekiel blinked. His lips parted, dry and aching from it. A pain, sudden and crippling in every muscle coating his thin, wiry frame, prevented him from making any moves to escape the potentially scarring damage of words he knew were sure to follow.

He watched her and wondered if she meant them or if she'd said them simply to hurt him. He watched her.

A devilish angel.

An angelic devil.

_So fucking beautiful._

Either way.

_Just so fucking beautiful._

He felt himself slipping deeper in love with her than he ever thought was possible. His resolve was crumbling so fast...so fast. It was suddenly of the utmost urgency that she love him as much as he loved her this very second. Against his better judgement, he spoke.

"If..." he began hoarsely, "If you do -"

"I do."

Ezekiel pressed his lips together feeling a raw and familiar tightening in his throat. He turned and began to walk away. If he stayed he'd only be being selfish. He'd only want to stay until she felt okay with things. He'd stay until she didn't hate him. Maybe even until she loved him again. But he couldn't be sure this very moment, maybe not even until the last second, if it would be enough for him to stay.

"I think..." She started hesitantly.

He stopped.

It would be enough.

It would be enough.

_For Christ's sake..._

"I think...I think I'm lying."

Ezekiel's hands clenched at his sides. Her words weren't coming fast enough for him. He was afraid he'd devour her before she said what he hoped beyond hope she was going say next.

"Ezekiel? I think I'm lying. I don't think I hate you."

The only sound that could be heard between them was the barely audible sound of Ezekiel's dry tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth. He didn't speak.

"I think I love you more. Like, more than before," she began. "How am I supposed to just let you go? I don't understand what's happening. I don't know. Maybe it's because you're my...you were my first boyfriend. You were my first everything and I feel so stupid. I don't know how I'm supposed to act. I've never had anyone leave me this way before. My life, I mean. I don't know..." She smiled sadly. Her shoulders shrugged resignedly, "I can't get my head around this. We're so young. We're so young and these problems...they haven't even started yet and you don't want to deal with them already. It wouldn't work, right? You know more about this stuff than me. You keep saying you're dumb...but I'm the dumb one here. I'm the dumb one. And maybe that means we're supposed to..." She huffed and bumped her bag gently against her knees, ready to leave but hesitating still. "Alright. So maybe you already knew what was happening between us wasn't ever going to become anything and so we shouldn't have wasted our time. But maybe you should have let me figure all that out for myself. Maybe if you'd given me a little more time..."

Faye's bag dropped into the gravel between them when his hands tore at her arms to get them around him. They were around his waist, his back, his neck before she even realized what was happening. She couldn't see his face but she could feel the stickiness along his jaw from tears she could only assume he'd been crying for the past fifteen minutes. His hands were pressed tightly against either side of her head, holding her to him.

"You're not dumb. You're perfect, Faye. You're perfect. You're so fucking strong..."

Faye pulled back. Her heart was beating crazily. Ezekiel let out a small moan when she pulled away. His hands stayed out in front of him, willing her to return to the embrace but she took another step back and held her hand over her chest. She looked up at him for as long as her eyes would allow it before they were so blurred with tears she could have been staring at the pyramids in Egypt and would have been none the wiser.

"I couldn't..." she sobbed, "I couldn't go through this again. I'm only as strong as you make me."

Ezekiel sighed shakily. His composure slowly returned to him with every breath he took.

"You could say the same about me," he said.

Then:

"Keep me."

Faye blinked.

"Keep me for as long as you'll have me."

Faye's heart burst and she threw herself against Ezekiel with so much force she was surprised moments later to find they were still standing. Her lips found his with very grown up intention she'd never before demonstrated in the span of her short life.

She pressed forward, driving her mouth against his, her chest, her hips. He stumbled back against the full brunt of her physical attack and the moment of hesitation, the moment of fear that normally hit when she was simply within inches of him, even before the chastest of kisses, never came, and this seemed to scare him more than anything. She felt him try to pull back, probably only out of habit or chivalry, but she held him to her with a strange, almost adrenaline-induced strength and whispered between increasingly demanding kisses...

"Ezekiel..."

Her teeth bit gently into his lower lip.

He knew he'd lost it when he found himself biting back.

"...now."

* * *

**And with my hand upon my heart  
I'll say that she's perfect  
And with my hand upon my heart  
I'll say that she's worth it**

* * *

**Lyrics taken from Adorable's _A To Fade In_, _Homeboy_ and _Sistine Chapel Ceiling_ respectively. Don't sue, please.**


	42. The life of a woman with demons

I love you.

ssg.x.

**Life isn't precious and life isn't sacred  
Sometimes release only comes when you meet death  
Days of release when she almost felt better  
Gradually faded and words couldn't get her**

Jet, for a change, felt quite content to just not know.

He hadn't asked any question since he'd come in and he was pleased that this seemed to suit Faye just fine as she looked devoid of answers at the moment. He'd learned a lot about women, apparently, this last little while.

He sat quietly in the chair left temporarily vacated by her friend. Neither of them spoke for a long stretch of time. Minutes, hours, who knew? He watched her chew methodically on the corner of a very dry piece of toast for lack of anything else to do.

"So..." Jet finally sighed, smiling a phony smile that could have been spotted by a one-eyed cat miles away. He stretched his large arms over his head and settled back into a chair that couldn't possibly be settled in.

Faye chuckled to herself. "Jet. You don't have to be weird around me right now. I'm not gonna break if you're worried or angry or anything."

Jet looked at her curiously. "Why would I be angry?"

"Well...I don't know. Aren't you kind of a little angry? Just a little? I mean...I mean this whole thing is sort of my fault. I broke some sort of rule, right? 'Don't mix business with pleasure' or something like that."

Jet laughed then and the sincerity of it shattered any remains of estrangement between the two.

"Okay, first of all I don't think you're the kind of broad to buy into that t.v. movie 'it's not you, it's me' bullshit. Secondly, I'm not sure the problem here is mixing business with pleasure." He shrugged his shoulders, happy to finally be able to share his opinion on the whole Spike-Faye debacle. "I think he just wasn't ready. For that matter, you either."

Faye didn't say anything. Just toyed absently with the sheets she sat beneath. Jet wondered if it would have been better if he'd kept his trap shut but Faye suddenly nodded furiously and said, "You're right."

Jet's eyes widened and he thought he might fall off the chair.

"You're shitting me," he said, stunned. Faye laughed and the sound was like music to his ears. She leaned back into her pillows and laughed and laughed and laughed. Jet laughed, too.

When the laughter finally subsided, Faye had caught her breath and the pain in Jet's side numbed and eventually vanished, Jet asked carefully, "You're alright?"

Faye looked away for an almost endless amount of seconds.

"Yes."

Quite unconvincing.

"Yes, I'm alright. I'm tired. But we're all tired, aren't we? I remember a time long ago when I probably would have been so excited about the future. Like, that we could live forever, or at least..." Her shoulders rose and fell with her sudden sharp breath. "Well...I'm tired. I'm tired and I don't want to do it forever. If things had gone the way they were supposed to I'd be winding down now. I'd have things all figured out and I'd be looking down the other side of the hill."

"If things had gone the way they were supposed to you'd have been doing the same shit you're doing now. You'd be fucking up somewhere a little further to the left of the time line, but you'd still be fucking up. Everyone has to do it. Sure, some of us have to do it more than others..." He grinned and Faye smiled sadly back at him, realizing he was making a reference to Spike.

Jet sobered and said, "He's outside. He's waiting in the car."

Faye suddenly looked sick. He felt awful bringing it up, especially at a time when they finally seemed to be having a genuine conversation, but he needed to know if he was supposed to go back down to the car and have Ana drive Spike back to the ship or over a cliff.

"He's not supposed to be here," she said firmly. A brief but affecting tremor passed through her.

_Jesus Christ._

It was true.

Jet felt like a monster.

"He's not supposed to be here," she said again. She bit into her bottom lip and her chin wobbled. Jet looked away before he could see her face collapse completely. He distracted himself by placing a hand over hers. His good hand. He could feel how cold hers were and he found himself stroking her fingers gently, unconsciously offering her both warmth and a sliver of comfort. She let him touch her. He fought the strange and sudden urge to pull her against him to stop her small body from rattling.

"He's not allowed to come up. He's not allowed anywhere near you. Not until you say it's alright," he explained quickly and forcefully. He gave her hands a squeeze, pressing his large hand around the tiny and delicate appendages he held within. Faye shook her head. She looked up at him, eyes frenzied and pleading. She pulled her hands from his to grab his arm, unaware that her fingernails were pressing into the flesh of it painfully.

"He's so angry. Jet, he hates me. He hates me right now. If he finds a way to get up here...I can't take it again. I can't take it. My heart will..."

Jet looked across the room and his eyes were suddenly following Ana's form, moving quickly through the door to his side holding a tray with several cups of coffee on it. She plopped the tray onto his lap and he accepted it without even blinking. In a second she had somehow shooed him from the chair, taking his place and pressing Faye's head into her shoulder. Faye began to sob and Jet was about to berate Ana when he saw Faye's thin arms reach up and around her waist. Ana returned her embrace and rocked her back and forth.

"Shh...shh..."

Jet was amazed at this strange affinity women had to each other. Faye knew Ana for barely even an hour and here she was crying on her shoulder as though they were old friends or sisters. Jet had lived with the girl for a year...

_Jesus._

_Women are amazing._

"Where is he?" Ana asked.

"Who?" Jet asked stupidly, still awestruck.

Ana rolled her eyes and huffed, "Spike, Jet. Where is he?"

"He's in the car. I told him to stay there."

"That was almost an hour ago."

Jet glared at her rather indignantly. "I told him to stay in the car. The ISSP have orders to arrest him if he tries to see her. He'd have to be an idiot - "

_Oh, crap._

"Goddammit..." Jet muttered under his breath as he swiftly set the coffee tray down at Faye's feet and rushed from the room.

**Lyrics from The Delgados' _The Drowning Years_...**


	43. She cuts like silk into this fantasy

**so just one more  
just one more go  
inspire in me the desire in me  
to never go home**

**oh just one more  
and i'll walk away  
all the everything you win  
turns to nothing today**

**so just one more  
just one more go  
inspire in me the desire in me  
to never go home**

I remember the first time I hit someone. Like really hit someone. Bone on bone.

It was fucking painful.

See, when you start doing shit like that, there's these stages you go through. Well, that's what I figure anyways and I can back up this theory of mine with an extensive collection of data I've collected over the years starting with my first time on a two-wheeler bike at the age of six.

My dad was cleaning out the basement this one time when I was little. I must have been like three or four. And he pulls out this green bike that used to belong to him when he was a kid with the wide, white-walled tires, hand brakes and everything you just don't see on bikes anymore these days (I guess I've always had this preference for vintage modes of transportation). Of course I think it's the best thing I've ever seen and I ask if I can ride it and my dad says "What are you, crazy? You're too young" or something to that extent. So for the next hour I'm watching my dad sweating to get this basement clean before my mom gets home from her sister's and begging him to let me have the bike. So he says, "Listen. By the time you're old enough to ride this thing, some cool new bike will be all the rage and you'll feel stupid for wanting this old piece of garbage." And I'm crying and whining to my old man that I'll want this bike for the rest of my life, blah, blah, blah. So he ends up tucking it away in a corner and telling me he'll keep it for me until I can ride it.

So I turn six and I'm ready for some two-wheeled action with my lean-green-pleasure-machine and just as I predicted, when my dad pulls out the old clunker, I'm just as much in love with it as I was the first second I saw it. So my dad adjusts the seat for me, does some minor tune-ups and we're out in the street by the time I get home from school that afternoon.

My dad's running behind me with his hand on the back of the seat to help me balance and I'm whining like a moron that I want him to let go so I can do it myself. He's hesitant at first and then I really start to wail and that pisses him off enough that he lets go of the seat.

So for about fourteen seconds I'm all smug and shit because I'm just flying down the street without his help. Then I start to weave and the handlebars are rattling and twisting and the front wheel slips off the curb of the sidewalk and I almost crack my fucking skull open when I get thrown from the seat.

Okay so what's my point?

The stages.

So the first stage is what I like to call the 'this isn't the way it's supposed to be' stage. There's this thing you know about. It's been happening around you forever, you've seen it on television and in the movies and you're thinking when you finally get at it, it's not gonna be that big a deal and you can just fall into it. And that's just not the way it happens at all. Like me on the bike thinking I was Evel-fucking-Knievel and almost getting my head pushed back through my asshole by the concrete. I was definitely not thinking it was going to be that way.

The second phase is the 'I never knew it could be so good' stage, when you get the hang of it and you're enjoying it. In fact, you're enjoying it so much you're addicted to it. You're looking for excuses why you have to do it. You're making up excuses if you can't find any. Like me and the bike. If my mom even mentioned we were low on milk or the old man's cigarette supply started looking a little on the low side, I'd be out on my bike in a second. And before I got the hang of that bike you couldn't get me off the couch if it was on fire.

The third stage doesn't have a name because you don't even realize it's happening. The thrill of whatever activity's won over your heart and soul and almost every waking second of your thoughts for the past however many months or years worn off because you've done it so much and now it's just second nature. You don't dislike it. You don't like it. It's just something else you do. Like piss, shower, or shave.

And, trust me, this happens with everything. Like when I started smoking. My first cigarette when I was nine made me want to vomit and I couldn't understand why it looked so easy and so goddamn relaxing whenever I saw Steve McQueen doing it.

Then, of course, I start to get the hang of it. And I start to like it. Like really like it. I'm practically kissing kids asses at school for cigarettes. I'm sneaking out with bathroom passes during class to go outside and smoke on the basketball courts. At one point I risk getting my head knocked off when I begin a brief stint of swiping cigarettes from the pack my dad leaves in his workshop in the garage. By the time I was twelve and practically a chain smoker it had become just habit. I didn't even really enjoy. I just sort of did it because I'd been doing it for so long and I'd gotten used to having it around.

See what I mean? It's been like that with everything. The bike, the smoking...Even Julia. I'd fallen in love with her and felt shitty about it. I was in love. It was supposed to be great but it wasn't because it was my friend's fucking girlfriend. And just like the cigarettes, just like hitting my head after falling off the bike, it made me sick. It just fucking hurt so much.

But then I started to like it. This thrill that I was doing something that could hurt me. With Julia, I have to admit, even while we were running around with eyes on the backs of our heads, I was fucking excited about the prospect of getting caught. I knew if we ever were (and, as it turns out, we were eventually) found out I'd probably shit myself, but there was that tiny bit of me that got so turned on by the whole thing it became a drug. And as I - well- as we were getting away with things under everyone's noses, I think I subconsciously started getting more brazen. Like how serial killers will start sending out hints to their hunters just to taunt them. A grown-up, fucked up version of The Gingerbread Man.

Vicious was my old man and I was stealing his cigarettes.

He was none the wiser.

And then the excitement began to wear off. The third stage. I loved Julia but I wanted normalcy. We were sneaking around and I was tired of it and I just wanted out of there. I wanted to become a normal couple. Get an apartment. Friendly chats during dinner. Reading quietly next to each other in bed at night. Picking up groceries together on Sundays. I was getting tired of rushing over to her place, getting undressed, groping each other in the dark for a fleeting couple of hours - sometimes only one - with my ears constantly pricked up to hear if someone was coming up the stairs, opening the door to put a gun to the back of my head...

The unnatural became second nature.

Where the hell was I going with this?

Jesus, that's right. The bones.

When I first hit this kid when I was fifteen I thought I'd broken my fucking hand. I can't remember what the fight had been about but I remember the pain, the sound of my hand smashing against his jaw. This 'pop' like a firecracker as the pointed and bony knuckles of my hand connected with this kid's face.

Fuck, it hurt.

Again, the second stage followed. It followed me right into my first year in the syndicate. I loved it. I loved every second of it. Soon it had become so normal, such a part of my lifestyle, that I didn't even register it anymore. Violence, hurting, killing...it was all like changing my socks or brushing my teeth. Just part of my routine.

I hadn't felt pain like that first punch - bone on bone pain - until just now.

She was falling asleep it seemed. Faye, I mean. Her eyes were just about closed and her breathing had slowed. I dressed her as carefully as she'd gotten undressed earlier while she drifted off, carefully tugging at the waist of her pyjama pants to get them on her, gently pulling the ripped pieces of her top together before resting my head on her chest to listen to her inhales and exhales. I wrapped my arms around her hips, not terribly sorry I had to disturb her for a second by lifting her to accomplish this task. When I felt her fingers stroking my hair I thought about how this was the sort of moment I had always wished to have with Julia. Just the two of us. Nowhere either of us had to be. No fear of the daylight. Just me and Julia.

Just me and Faye.

Jesus Christ, I want this so much.

And I fight the urge to look up at her. I try to keep still so that this moment doesn't end but I do. I look up and just as I predict, she's beautiful and I want to kiss her. And luckily, she's looking back at me and I feel suddenly like I really know her because I feel like she wants to kiss me, too. And then we're kissing and it's fucking amazing and I'm almost sorry I took the trouble to get her dressed again because I want her so much right now.

**I know you only too well  
****This is not your voice  
****And this is not you **

Her lips against his are urgent and he finds himself kissing her back with the same intensity. He thinks about how this desperation doesn't stem from fear-induced limitations of time as it once did long ago with Julia. He believes this desperation grows from his needing to be inside her. Inside her body, her head. Invading every last corner of her.

She whispers against his mouth, "I think I'm lying..."

"Lying?" he gasps between her lips.

"I don't think I hate you."

He chuckles and smiles. "I don't think I hate you either," he whispers. Her head falls back and he's lost in the scent of her hair and the pale expanse of her long, slender throat.

He can hear her speaking softly but can't understand her words. Some of them seem as though they may be meant for him but then some don't seem to make any sense. He thinks he's probably just hearing them wrong. He pushes between her thighs with one bent leg. She sighs and pulls back slightly, pressing into the mattress she's pinned to.

"I couldn't go through this again..."

She's sobbing. Confused, Spike pushes himself up onto his elbows and watches her. Her eyes are closed and tears slip out from beneath her lashes.

"Faye...Faye, are you alright? Should I stop?"

Faye's arms leave her sides and she suddenly pulls her small, trembling body against his with an all-consuming greed. Spike is almost taken aback by this display of prurience but his surprise is quickly replaced with renewed avidity and the kisses he returns match and threaten to overtake those of her own.

And that's when it happens.

_Bone against bone._

Her hips jerk in such a way that the sharp bone of her pelvis collides with that of his own. He jumps and raises his head, not knowing what to make of her wide eyes, pupils dilated to the size of saucers, the sudden milk-white hue of her face.

Her hips twist awkwardly between him and the bed. Frantically she begins squirming against him.

Spike shakes himself from his reverie and realizes she's trying to get away from him. Her hands ball into small but powerful fists she batters into his spine, against his sinewy arms, more words falling from her lips but not connecting to anything around them, more than a few of them not even recognizable as words.

All but one.

"...Ezekiel."

**Lyrics taken from The Cure's _Homesick_ and Adorable's _I Know You Too Well_. Don't sue...**


	44. All The Things I Wasn't

**__**well, people, i got my ass kicked righteously with the last few reviews 

[pia bartolini- i just gotta say "yeowch!" :) if you like my story, i tremble in my boots at the thought of the comments you leave for stories you _don't_ like ;) ]... however, with my ass now bruised, tender, but in gear, i return with the next chapter. remember: i love your reviews, good, bad and ugly...but try to keep them helpful. Too much negativity without even a sprinkling of advice or insight makes the writing too bitter for human consumption [and, on occasion, makes the writer want to spit in the food...have you ever seen good fic writers turn ugly with a bad review? i have...yikes!!!] :)

i love you even though you beat me.

i'm such a masochist.

beatings are hott.

ssg.x. **__**

**_Hours of hiding, spent apart  
The wall was all we'd shared  
About the closest you could get  
About all I would bear_**

**_Tell me all the things I wasn't  
Would have made that big a difference  
To all the things you are  
  
Years of listening taking in  
To one day take away  
From all the guilt and pity _**

**_I could barely keep at bay_**

**_Tell me all the things I wasn't  
Would have made that big a difference  
To all the things you are_******  
  
**_  
_**

It couldn't have been easier.

And that pissed him off as much as it pleased him.

All he had to say was "Any sign of that perverted freak?"

"No, sir. Don't you worry, Mr. Calhoun. He's not getting anywhere near your girlfriend."

"She's not my girlfriend." Spike almost spat back over his shoulder as he walked away, the thought of that asshole being with Faye making him sick to his stomach. Instead, he smiled, mouth filled with acidic juices.

"I appreciate it," He waved casually. "Keep up the good work..."

...idiots.

Rookie I.S.S.P. agents were just as dumb as Jet had always insisted. Spike knew they didn't look so much alike that a guy with half a brain couldn't tell them apart. But here he was sauntering passed one after another right up to the room of his supposed rape victim not crossing a single suspicious look.

Spike could chalk up their incompetence to perhaps exhaustion. Who knows? Maybe they'd been there all night. Or maybe these guys were the misinformed second string.

Or maybe they were just former jocks who never finished school thus possessing a limited number of skills which, fortunately for them, happened to include being able to stand for long periods of time without shooting themselves in the foot.

He stopped dead in his tracks five feet away from Faye's door. He sighed deeply and closed his eyes, gathering his thoughts, wondering what Faye's reaction to his little visit might be.

He should be the angry one.

He's the one that spent the night in jail after posing for the least flattering mugshots in the history of photography. He's the one who fell into a pathetic excuse for a half hour's sleep trapped between a concrete wall and a man blubbering on his shoulder about how miserable he'd be without his wife and daughter when they'd leave him on finding out he got arrested for assaulting a hooker after she tried to overcharge him.

But Spike wasn't angry.

He was worried.

He was worried all these bits of her past; her father's brutal death, a baby sister old enough to be her grandmother, cryptic messages from eons ago, had finally driven her crazy.

He was worried _he'd_ finally driven her crazy.

He was worried Jet couldn't believe that he wasn't capable of doing the horrible things the I.S.S.P. may have told him he'd done. He was worried that suspicions of his violent nature might be confirmed quite prejudicially when, on seeing Roscoe Calhoun, Spike would leap out of his skin to throttle him.

But more than all of this, Spike was worried he'd lost Faye. Lost her before he'd even properly had her.

He drew long and careful breaths in and out of his lungs like he was preparing to dive underwater as he drew closer to the doorway. He tall frame bent into a smooth ninety degree angle as he tried to peer into the room without being seen by those who might be occupying it.

He could hear voices. Two. One was Faye's. The other one's could be that other girl's voice. Ana. Or a nurse.

Jesus Christ, Spike. This isn't some spy mission. Just go in for fuck's sake.

You didn't do anything wrong.

Something happened to her that made her act the way she did. Something happened to her. And whatever happened to her, it's probably over now. She's probably back to herself now. And if she isn't...well, then there's a good chance she's heavily medicated...

_She looked at me like she didn't know me._

_She looked at me like..._

_...like she didn't _know_ me._

**__****_I will give you everything  
That you've ever wanted  
With this promise  
I will bring you home again  
_**__

He could feel folds of his shirt being pinched beneath her fingernails as she raked them down his back. She cried out when he wouldn't let go. And how could he? Hindsight is twenty-twenty and the transformation from one Faye to the other had been so fast he was still dizzy. He called out to her [indeed it seemed as though she were somewhere far away...], asking her if she was alright, begging her to know him, pleading with her to stop her struggling. If he'd known, he'd have let go of her immediately.

"Get off me!" She screamed. "Get away from me! Get off me!"

"Faye! Stop it!" Spike shouted back. He sat back and took advantage of the silence that overtook them as she stole a moment to catch her breath. For a second, it seemed as though the episode was over and he reached out a hand to cradle her wet face against his shaking fingers. She slapped his hand away and her head turned quickly, lips parted, teeth showing. For a moment, Spike thought she was going to bite him.

"Don't fucking touch me." She growled. Her knee came up and struck him square in the belly. He doubled over and tumbled to the floor. A foot lashed out, hitting him in the jaw and suddenly she was off the bed and straddling him on the floor. Her nails out again, but this time swiftly into the skin above and around his heart beneath his unbuttoned shirt.

Short of knocking her skull against the floor, Spike had no idea how to get her to stop.

He'd never been terribly good with words.

Again she paused to catch her breath and Spike was able to get his arms around her. A pathetic but valiant attempt was made to fight him off, but Faye lost and fell against him hard with the urging of his arms, straining to keep her from any further movement.

"Stop." He whispered. "Stop, Faye."

They remained mute for what could have been an endless string of minutes. The only sound throughout the apartment was that of their breathing and what Spike guessed was a radio that had been left on in one of the other rooms and playing some strange old song. Spike felt Faye's weight deaden in his arms and he sighed long and fierce against the top of her head.

"Spike...?"

"Are you alright?" Spike asked. His eyes were closed. His heart was beating miles per second and his entire body ached. He couldn't process any more thoughts today. He'd take Faye back to the ship. He'd lie her in her own bed and she'd be okay. She'd wake up in the morning and be okay. She'd be herself again. And he'd be himself again.

Except better. Because she loved him.

The last thought he wanted to process tonight would be her telling him she was fine. That would be all he needed.

But it never came.

He waited patiently. Then he waited impatiently.

She never spoke again.

He looked down at her and saw that her eyes were closed. Her lips were parted and he could hear shallow, static breaths escaping from them. Her hands slipped into her lap when he held her out at arm's length, her head lolling to one side, then the other, and he felt her fingers as he squeezed them in one sweaty fist.

They were cold as ice and sticky in his grasp.

She had fainted. It was probably for the best.

_She'll wake up in her own bed. She'll be fine. We'll be fine._

He said it over and over in his mind like a mantra.

Spike struggled to stand and bring her up with him. He held her to him with one arm as the other used the side of the bed for support to get him standing. The past few months had taken its toll on him. His recovery time got longer and longer with every injury sustained. He wondered how long it would take him to heal from tonight. Vicious' number on him seemed like a cakewalk now in comparison.

She slipped from his grasp and he stumbled for a moment, almost losing his footing again. He let out a low awe-struck whistle when he noticed the blood she had managed to draw during their fight beading on his chest and dotting his shirt. His ribs burned and he took a deep breath, capturing her wrists and heaving upwards to get her, and himself for that matter, back onto the bed. He'd leave her there to rest for a few moments while he gathered himself, and her few modest belongings, to get out of this apartment and back where they belong.

"Back the fuck away from her."

Spike whirled around towards the voice.

For fuck's sake.

Roscoe Calhoun stood in the doorway of the bedroom in _his suit_ with a gun aimed at his head.

Spike glared at him. He lay Faye carefully down on the bed.

"We're leaving. I came to get her."

Roscoe's expression didn't waver. "Did you hear what I said? I said get the fuck away from her. Now."

Spike sighed, exasperated. "That's a stage prop."

Roscoe blinked. "What?"

"It's a stage prop. That gun you're pointing at me." Spike stated casually as he started across the room towards the armchair where Faye's jeans and sweatshirt lay, breaking eye contact with him. He gathered her things up under his arm.

"I've seen enough guns to know that's a fake. You'd be better off threatening me with a bedroom slipper."

Roscoe frowned for a second before remembering his resolve. He held the gun back up. "Do you really want to take that chance?"

"Yes." Spike said, tired of this game already. He gently placed Faye's clothes by her head and began buttoning up his shirt. "And that line's as stale as the plot of the movie you said it in."

Roscoe's jaw dropped as he regarded Spike incredulously.

A beat.

Then two.

And then Roscoe suddenly began to laugh. He let his arms fall at his sides, the toy gun dangling from his fingers.

Spike paused mid-button to watch him curiously.

"Yeah. You're right. It was a shitty movie. And this is a toy gun..."

Suddenly, two I.S.S.P. agents appeared behind Roscoe in the doorway, weapons aimed for Spike's centre.

"...but _their_ guns are real."

_Lyrics taken from The Grapes of Wrath's **Tell Me All The Things I Wasn't**_**** _and The Skydiggers' **I Will Give You Everything**...Ah, yes... a fine night for Canadian indie folk-mope. :)_


	45. Where's What's True Between The Lines

So...

This chapter could have been ten billion times better. And quite possibly by the end of this weekend I might actually attempt to fix it up a bit. But I'm posting it as it is since Leadbelly and She Wanted To Die are being slightly refurbished for the website anyways so I can always fix it along with all the other chapters. :)

But things have to move because the next couple of chapters are relatively doozy-like and I want to start writing those ones. They're going to be big-ass tension headache inducing and the sooner I start on them the sooner I can finish them and slip into a coma. As usual, lemme know what's going on in those pretty little heads of yours. :) I appreciate it!

I love you.

ssg.x.**__**

**_Until she comes again_**

**_And I can hear the things she said_**

**_I feel no thought to move my head_**

**_Until she comes again_**__

**_Until she comes again_**

**_The sun goes out_**

**_The night comes in_**

**_The time goes 'round_**

**_The day grows dim_**

**_Until she comes again_**

When he saw her again for the first time since...

He wanted to touch her. Badly. Desperately, even. He wanted to clutch at her arms and her head and her heart and try to find the words that might breathe the life back into those lackadaisical eyes inside that bloodless face.

But he didn't have the chance to. The first thing he noticed was that she had visibly pushed herself back into her pillows like she could camouflage herself against them. She probably could have. Her skin was almost the colour of ash.

He'd waited until Ana left the room. He could hear her asking Faye if she'd be okay by herself for a moment and Faye had replied, "Yes. Get something to eat. Try to sneak me in a doughnut or something." They'd both laughed gently and Spike mentally pat himself on the back for the good timing. She was feeling better and he could relax a bit.

In half a second he ducked down behind an unattended trolley of supplies as Ana walked past on her way to the cafeteria. He felt stupid and sleazy and hoped his humiliation and trouble wouldn't be totally in vain. At the very least he had to find out if that fuckwit, Roscoe, had managed to brainwash Faye into thinking he was a rapist.

He bravely took the remaining steps to her room and slipped in, shutting the door behind him. Faye looked up at the sound of the door closing and her lips pressed together tight enough to suggest to Spike that she wasn't going to scream. But she did look like she was going to leap out the window to escape him need be. He didn't know what to do next.

**_And with her step_**

**_I move my feet_**

**_And with her hand_**

**_I feel my skin_**

**_And with her need_**

**_I find I'm saved_**

**_And with her dreams_**

**_I'm laid_**

_Do I try to hold her? Do I just start talking?_

"Spike -" She finally sputtered. And for a moment it looked as though she was seeing him with the same eyes she'd seen him with on that bed in that room over a thousand years ago.

"Are you alright?" He asked quietly.

The look on her face twisted into something else entirely like she'd ripped off a mask in the second it took her to process his first words to her since the incident at the apartment.

"That's a stupid question." She almost growled. Spike reeled from the sudden change in her facial expression. It was like it was happening again. He was a stranger, then he was Spike, then he was...

He could only guess.

She brought her hands to her face, suddenly panting. She closed her eyes for a moment and Spike stood in the corner of the room, agitated and hating, fucking _hating_, not being mentally or emotionally equipped to handle this right now. He'd been her boyfriend for a fucking day and a half and he'd been a fucking failure at it.

Well, he didn't really have a good track record for good boyfriend behaviour in his past so it only figured.

"I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that. I'm fine." She looked back up at him and said, "But you shouldn't be here. You need to leave."

"I wanted to make sure you were okay." He said, numbly.

_And?_

"I'm sorry this happened-" He managed, kick-starting his brain by finally moving. He raised his arms from his sides and the simple movement made her inexplicably burst into tears.

Bad fucking timing.

The door opened and Jet was standing there out of breath.

"Spike -" He breathed, "I - _cough_ - told you -_wheeze_ - to stay in the car..." Jet looked at him with such reproachfulness, Spike almost felt like he was supposed to be hanging his head in shame like some stupid little kid whose mother caught him masturbating to underwear catalogue models.

Roscoe suddenly appeared in the doorway with Ana close behind, food tray in tow.

"What the hell is he doing in here?" He shouted incredulously. Jet placed a hand on Spike's shoulder, making Spike feel even stupider. And Spike hated feeling stupid. When he felt stupid he turned it into anger. He felt himself getting hotter and hotter beneath the grimy shirt and tie he'd been wearing for two days.

"He's leaving. I'm taking him home, okay? Right now."

Spike's eyes narrowed as he regarded Roscoe. He was seething.

"I'm not leaving." He ground out between gritted teeth.

Jet tried to pull Spike towards him and out into the hall but Spike jerked his shoulder and freed himself from his grip.

"Spike -" He began.

"You heard me._ I'm not leaving_."

"If you don't get him out I'm calling the I.S.S.P. up here." Roscoe warned, glaring at Jet.

Ana shoved past the men and placed the lunch tray she carried onto the night table, sitting in the chair by her bed and putting a protective arm around her. Roscoe also backed up a few paces to be closer to Faye.

Jet threw his bagged lunch aside, letting it skitter across the floor with nary a second thought, and forcefully grabbed Spike's shoulders, insisting to Roscoe but staring his comrade straight in the face quite menacingly, "We're _leaving_."

Spike suddenly snapped.

He pulled away from Jet and shouted, "You're not what she needs! She doesn't need all these fucking tubes and bandages and pastries and hand-holding and..._fuck_!"

He looked across the room, meeting her eyes desperately, locking into them and not letting go. She stared back at him helplessly. "She needs me. She fucking needs me. And I'm not leaving. Not while you assholes are trying to convince her that I'm bad for her or that she'd be better off without me."

His voice grew gentler as he saw the tears slipping down her cheeks, droplets thick enough that her entire face appeared rinsed in them already. "She gets me. And I get her. I get her like I get myself and if there's anyone here who can tell someone outside of this room what she's thinking or feeling right now better than me then..." He couldn't finish this thought because a scary little corner inside himself this very moment was harbouring the fear that Roscoe might speak up. And he'd lob off one of his own hands before losing a bet to the likes of him.

"She needs me." He whispered again.

But the message he conveyed to her, or prayed he did, in eyes burning with the same intense agony as her own was that _he_ needed _her_. He _needed _her.

**__****_I can't be saved _**

**_From my ways_**

**_Until she comes_**

For a moment it looked like she might throw the sheets from her and fling herself into his arms.

Instead, she turned away, instantly splintering the intimate communion he thought he'd managed to achieve and, quite possibly, his heart as well if he'd believed such things could happen outside of love songs and poetry collections.

Faye stared abysmally at her hands trembling in her lap for several long moments. You couldn't hear a person in the room breathing. When Faye finally spoke it was Jet she addressed.

"Get him out of here." She whispered.

_::Lyrics taken from **The Psychedelic Furs' Until She Comes**::_


	46. Heavenly Scene In Mind Could Be Hell

_filmstar..._

_propping up the bar_

_driving in a car_

_it looks so easy_

_what to believe in?_

_it's impossible to say_

_what to believe in?_

_when they change your name_

_wash your brain_

_play the game _

_again?_

"How is she?"

Roscoe glanced down the hall towards Faye's room, keeping an eye out for Jet. He was the only person who could potentially twist his head free from his shoulders if he found out what was going on.

"Yes. She's fine. She's scared and confused but - "

"We don't need a psycho-analytical medical report, Mr. Calhoun. We just need to know if she's alive."

"Yes." Roscoe replied quickly. He nervously rubbed a hand against his stubbled jaw. His wrist ached from squeezing the handset too tightly.

"You're moving too slowly, Mr. Calhoun. You need to pick up the pace." The voice on the other end seemed to be hissing ominously. "Please don't disappoint us. It would be extremely difficult to find a replacement so late in the game."

Roscoe exhaled heavily, covering the receiver while doing so to disguise the relief behind it. He wasn't quite as expendable, then, as he'd believed. Maybe he'd be alright. He still hadn't made up his mind how he wanted to die.

He wasn't entirely certain he even wanted to anymore.

"It would be difficult. But not impossible." The voice on the other end stated matter-of-factly.

"I understand." Roscoe replied, hoarsely.

The silence that followed went on long enough that Roscoe felt it was safe to replace the handset to the pay phone he'd been using. But as he moved to hang up he heard:

"She stays with you."

"Yes."

"Don't let her go back to that ship."

"I understand." He felt he'd spoken those words a dozen times now.

"Now that filming is complete, you need to focus, Mr. Calhoun. We can't stress this enough. Don't leave her side."

Roscoe stifled an irritated sigh. He wanted to get back to Faye. The desire was irrelevant to his job and he shivered inwardly, feeling his stomach tighten and cramp at the thought of it.

He was so royally screwed.

"I _understand._" He said. This time a little too brusquely.

Silence.

Roscoe cursed himself before a rich chuckle, one that might have put him at ease if he didn't know who he was dealing with, reached him.

"Mr. Calhoun, don't get too attached to the feeder fish."

Roscoe shuddered.

His fate hadn't yet been decided. But hers had. He began to sweat under the pressure of knowing someone else's estimated time of death. Aware that he was crossing the line but, for some reason, not caring terribly, he spoke.

"She doesn't need to...I mean you can get what you want without having to...Jesus Christ. She's so young. She doesn't know anything." He said desperately. His pathetic attempt at getting them to spare her was interrupted by the sudden sound of static, loud and obnoxious through the handset. He'd been disconnected.

"Fuck!" He whispered, leaning his hot forehead against the top of the communicator and closing his eyes. Breathing. His leg jerked out, giving the wall a solid kick. He opened his eyes and turned to look back down the hall towards the door to Faye's room.

Shit.

_Shit._

She stood holding a tray from the cafeteria only five feet away from him. Her posture suggested she was walking casually down the hallway back to the room when something stopped her dead in her tracks. Like a truck. Or a dead animal.

Or like she'd suddenly heard something awful.

And he dreaded this happening. Because, goddammit, he _liked_ her.

"Ana..." He breathed.

_Hello sunshine.  
Come into my life._

Ana was smiling.

_Smiling._

And buying a chocolate pudding.

And not feeling like shit about eating it and enjoying it and maybe even gaining a pound.

Because he liked her.

_He_ liked _her._

At least enough to want her to stay.

She picked up a few other food items without paying a whole lot of attention to her selections. When she was in the elevator, she looked down at her tray of chocolate pudding, two containers of ramen noodles, an orange, a plastic-wrapped sandwich that may or may not have been tuna once, and a roll of lozenges. Mmm. Nutritious.

She realized she'd forgotten to get something sweet for Faye. She'd also forgotten to ask poor Roscoe if he'd wanted something special, she thought guiltily as she ambled around the corner tilting the tray this way and that to keep the orange from rolling off of it and onto the floor.

Roscoe had been here for as long as Faye had, never leaving her side for a second. Not to eat, not to go home and sleep. He just sat there resolutely in the chair by her bed occasionally using the comm out in the hall to probably check in with Akaido's people about work. He was probably in a lot of shit for disappearing after the shooting of the last few scenes. Knowing that maniac Akaido they were all going to have to look forward to weeks and weeks of re-shoots. His appetite for perfection was a marvel to everyone in the industry. Except those who worked for him. They all just thought he was a dickhead.

And here Roscoe was now looking like he was getting chewed a new asshole. He was so pale. He definitely needed to get some rest and something substantial in that stomach of his. Ana wondered about this change in her. Jet's gentleness and fondness [well-hidden though it was] towards Faye made Ana suddenly long for family. And since she didn't have one, it made her look to those immediately around her now. And that included Roscoe. A guy she'd been working with for all these months who she'd never spoken more than two words to. She was standing there in the hallway watching his tall, almost limp frame bent over the communicator, gripping the handset with the suggestion that any strength he may have had left was fleetingly possessed in the palm of his hand.

Drawing nearer she could hear him pleading with the unknown party on the other end of the conversation. His free hand ran repeatedly across his forehead which, even from where she was standing, she could note was glistening with perspiration.

"...I mean you can get what you want without having to...Jesus Christ. She's so young. She doesn't know anything."

Ana watched him curiously. He wasn't fighting for his job. It sounded like he was begging for someone else's. She secretly hoped it was Judy whose job was on the line although she knew that couldn't be the case. Judy Gillery was too big a star to get fired, even by Master Akaido. Perhaps it was that girl playing Jillian. She was such a cow. Always rolled her eyes and huffed at even Ana's slightest requests. Even though it would mean an extra few weeks of shooting the few scenes she appeared in, Ana would be glad she was gone.

Roscoe squeezed his eyes shut and hiccuped. The hand from his forehead gripped his middle.

"Fuck!" He cried.

Ana jumped and the orange skipped across the tray. She moved swiftly to keep it from catapulting into the air and down the hall.

Okay. This wasn't about Judy Gillery or Jillian the Mulch Cow. One thing Ana knew about Roscoe was that he wasn't fond enough of either of them to merit this display of emotions before her now. And if he was, he was a much better actor than she'd given him credit for.

So that could only mean one person from the little information she had.

Faye.

It must be Faye. He was trying to save her from getting fired.

Ana felt like her problems earlier on in the day were mild in comparison to poor Roscoe's. It was clear as day he was in love with this girl. And what a time for something like_ that_ to happen. Jesus...

Roscoe lay against the comm for a few silent moments, breathing heavily. As though he'd felt her watching him, his head suddenly jerked in her direction.

He watched her muzzily for a second. She felt like there was nothing she could say that wasn't already written across her face. She felt like they were looking at each other across the several feet that separated them and just understanding each other perfectly. And she wondered if this is what it meant to be friends. She wasn't amused by his misery. She was affected by it. And it was welcomed.

He exhaled slowly and his eyes were leaden with grief.

"Ana..."

_It's all over for Faye_, she thought. She could see it all over his face.

_Well I could sleep forever _

_But it's of her I dream._

_If I could sleep forever _

_I could forget about everything._

_If I could sleep forever..._

Spike couldn't remember the trip from the moment Faye had spoken her last words to him to this one he found himself in now - standing in the middle of an unknown street at twilight.

He remembered vaguely arguing with Jet. Or, rather, Jet shouting at him and him not responding, pissed off that there were so many doubts residing in his only friend's big, bald head that Spike could ever have hurt Faye in such a real and damaging way.

But Spike, in his bones, knew that wasn't true. He knew Jet was mainly angry because he wanted answers. Always answers and only answers. It saddened Spike that he couldn't even give him that. They'd been partners for so long and with repairs on the Swordfish, food, costs for damages at a plethora of bars, restaurants, convenience stores and a very unfortunate misunderstanding at a retirement home, well - Spike guessed he probably cost more money for the poor guy than he ever managed to make. The very, _very_ least he could have done was let Jet in on what was happening right now.

But Spike hadn't a flying fuck of a clue.

The lack of control over these elements around him left him silently hating and berating himself. As usual, this translated, rather unfortunately, into defiance in Jet's eyes. And Spike would rather eat out his own liver than dispel this belief by displaying even a sliver of guilt for fear that would also be misconstrued as an admission of wrongdoing towards Faye.

Right now, though, this was far too heavy a mental burden for him. He was drunk and could only think several things clearly and concisely.

He had to pee. He had to sleep. He had to forget.

_Forget what?_

_Hmm. Good job._

Spike smiled and ambled slowly across the unknown street he was on and behind a pizzeria. He walked until he met with a dead end then unzipped and relieved himself. Immediate sobriety always struck on the release of body fluids, whether it be urine or blood or... He chuckled and moaned simultaneously, the bizarre emulsion of conflicting sounds and emotions made to sound sad and bestial against the wall he rested his face on. He was sweating profusely and knew he was going to vomit in a moment. He hadn't thrown up after a night of drinking since he was seventeen but he remembered the feeling. The taste of bile rising, filling. He swallowed hard but the acidic juices, thick and angry in his mouth, only made it come faster and fiercer.

And then everything inside him was suddenly out where any passerby could see it. Everything.

He sobbed, dry and grating, and slipped against the foulness around his boots as he stumbled back out into the street, kicking a garbage can with all that the alcohol didn't already take with it. He watched it skid and bounce off the curb and out into the street, watched a car swerve around it, the horn sounding like it was going in and out of a time warp around his head. The noise was fracturing and he felt sick again from it, although this time when he doubled over only air and water came from his efforts. He grabbed the tail of his shirt and wiped his wet face against it walking into the street and narrowly escaping being hit by a second car. He rushed doggedly to the other side and fell heavily against a slope of grass leading up to a park. The sun was going to be up soon.

He hadn't slept. When he closed his eyes he could only think of her. She pushed against him, punched and kicked and bit with teeth and words and he couldn't bear it. Couldn't drum up the words, couldn't even dream of finding the words, to make her stop. So instead he watched the clouds turn and roll, fleshy and pink from a slowly rising sun.

And when the prostitutes and drunks dotting the park began to turn into mothers and babies against blue skies, he stood and began the long walk back to the ship.

Lyrics taken from Suede's _filmstar_, Super Furry Animals' _Hello Sunshine_, and The Dandy Warhol's _Sleep_.


	47. I Die Within Your Reach

**And sometimes I just ain't in the mood**

**To take my place in back with the loudmouths**

**You're like a picture on a fridge that's never stocked with food**

**I used to live at home **

**Now I stay at the house**

____

_Goddamn it._

_Every fucking time._

Jet's silent treatment ended up lasting a full nine hours. And that was only because the subject of his snubbing was missing for seven of them.

When he heard Spike shuffling through the corridor, heard his shoes shaving the floor, a button from one of his jacket cuffs squeaking against the wall as he, probably predictably severely hung over or maybe even still drunk, lurched this way and that towards his room, Jet tried his best to pretend like he didn't notice.

Or didn't give a shit, rather.

And if Spike had been himself he would have known that Jet's not caring was impossible. He would have figured out with that uncanny sense of hearing he had that Jet stopped what he was doing. His bonsai scissors in his hand, frozen in time, hovering over the dark, gnarled branches he'd been feigning intense focus on for the previous four hours, ready to pretend he didn't give a shit when Spike finally did show up. Spike would have heard his breathing stop. He probably even would have heard Jet's prosthetic arm creaking where it locked into his flesh as it turned in the air towards the door to listen to Spike moving through the corridor with his own mere mortal hearing.

Jet listened for the sound of Spike's door closing and locking, making a few useless snips in the air with his scissors before deciding to take advantage of the vacant couch and unused vidscreen. He made himself some coffee, the process moving along much slower than usual as he paused every few moments to think. He couldn't help it.

He believed Spike even though that meant he had to take sides. His wildly out-of-character rant at the hospital served to prove two things to Jet.

One was that the boy was clearly insane.

And two was that the boy was also clearly in love with the broad. And from what little Jet knew about Spike and his past he guessed that Spike loved _hard_. Combined with Jet's realization a long while back that there was always the smallest soft spot in both their hardened hearts for Faye even though she stole cigarettes and bounties left and right without nary a thought for her 'comrades', Jet guessed that Spike would never hurt her. Not like that. Never.

Or at least he hoped. And that's all he really had right now.

He was giving Spike a chance to speak up. To defend himself. Mind you, all the chances he gave him were selfishly motivated. He needed to know Spike didn't do any of this stuff. He needed Spike to assuade his fears that he knew nothing about the man he'd made his partner and his friend over these past five years. The man he'd invested so much in. Trust and concern. And money. Lots of money [the money wasn't that important a point but he brought it up several times anyways so not to sound too much like somebody's mother].

But Spike - _stupid bastard _- decided he didn't want to say anything. So Jet decided that if he didn't have the heart to toss his ungracious ass out in the streets, he could at least let him know that he was thinking about it. Or let him _think_ that he was thinking about it.

Jet sipped at his coffee, resolved to the idea that he'd sit on the couch and watch something mind-numbing on the vidscreen and just not think about all this stuff for a while. Just let Spike stew in his juices.

Jet grumbled to himself after the surprise of discovering that Spike had wandered back from his room and rooted himself in the couch in the time it took Jet to make the most methodical cup of coffee ever had worn off. He glared at him and sat in the armchair, determined not to speak to him. It was much harder to do when the ostracized was sitting there doing it back without even realizing it.

Jet turned on the monitor and started channel surfing, trying to look more interested in what was on the screen rather than notice that Spike was staring at something fixed across the room. He wasn't lying down, which was odd for the boy, especially after a night of drinking, and he hadn't bothered to shower or change. The smell of various things filled the space around the pair; alcohol, cigarettes, bile, sex, sweat. Jet's forced focus on the shitty matinee movie he'd finally settled on was weakening with every inhale powerful enough to tell its own story.

_Goddamn it. _

_Every fucking time._

_He catches me off guard every fucking time._

"Where were you?"

At first he felt the rage from late yesterday, too big to be contained by Ana's small car, begin to bubble when it seemed Spike was turning a deaf and spiteful ear to Jet's questions yet again, but the anger subsided quickly when he realized that Spike couldn't hear him because his thoughts were merely occupied with something else so much bigger. Well, of course they were.

"I don't know." He replied, finally. Jet could see in his face the utter lack of defiance in his answer [for a change].

He really didn't know.

"Spike. I don't need to know what happened," Jet broached, carefully, "But things have gotten really bad lately."

Spike nodded his agreement, the muscle in his jaw which had been visibly throbbing beneath the wanness of his skin only seconds ago, seemed to go lax.

Jet stood, suddenly feeling that all was not lost and wanting to celebrate with a second cup of coffee. He might even bring one over for Spike. He called back over his shoulder as he made his way back to the kitchen area, "Maybe it's best that the girl's off getting better somewhere else. I think we can all do with some time away from eachother."

And then it happened. Jet could hear it. The sound of every muscle in Spike's body drawing taut as piano wire at the mention of Faye's name. Had Jet suddenly developed Spike's strange ability to hear the sound of skin crawling?

"What do you mean '_somewhere else_'?" He asked, quietly but reinforced with an unfamiliar emotional excess Jet couldn't categorize.

Crud.

"She's not staying here." Jet decided that leaving the room right now wasn't a good idea. If something happened to the vidscreen, Jet wouldn't have anything to distract him from the horrible carnage he knew was a great possibility for the near-future as a result of his next few words to Spike. "She's gone back to Roscoe's. Roscoe invited her to stay with him for as long as she needed to -" Jet plunged forward despite Spike's shoulders sharpening beneath his ravaged jacket, despite the low, animal-like hissing sound he seemed to be unconsciously making. "Spike. You know this is best for her. And you. And no matter how much you hate this Calhoun character, you have to admit that he's watching out for her. He's taking care of her better than..." Jet's voice trailed off. _Choose your words wisely, man. Think of the vidscreen_.

He looked away, "This is best." Insistent. Careful to leave no room for further discussion or argument.

Spike sat for a long time and said nothing. Jet started back for his coffee after several minutes. Not terribly confident he'd made his point, but knowing that whatever happened, he'd need as much caffeine as he could get into his system. He knew it was going to be a long day no matter how this ended.

Sure enough, it wasn't long before he returned to the living area holding only one mug for himself. He knew he'd have the couch to himself. Although this time he wasn't looking as forward to it. He shook his head and sighed heavily, thanking God that at least Spike had left the vidscreen in tact as he turned on the monitor and settled into an obligatory state of numbness.

"What the fuck does he think he's going to do? Yell her name outside Calhoun's door like Marlon-fucking-Brando?"

**Why must she taunt me so?**

**She still has his scent**

**She still wears the suitor's clothes**

**I've lived a lie **

**I stole a pretty bride **

**During the summertime.**

"Faye!"

Roscoe flinched at the sound of the shouting, the door seeming to bend inwards every time that psychopath's fists struck it. Who the hell did he think he was? Marlon Brando?

"Faye. You should let me call the I.S.S.P. This isn't good for you. And frankly, it's not good for me either. I've been trying to stave off building management for the past half hour. If he doesn't stop, they're going to be calling the police themselves."

Faye stared off into space, through the picture window they sat at while she picked only politely at a lunch Roscoe had prepared for her. Every time the door's hinges creaked against a full-on attack from Spike, every time he shouted her name, she felt her heart fracture in a different place, felt ribs vibrate, her skull begin to fall in on itself.

"I can't." She whispered. Roscoe frowned. As much as he wanted Spike back behind bars where he so obviously belonged, he also wanted Faye to get better. The next few weeks were going to be very difficult for her, though she didn't know it at the time, and he wanted her to be at full strength. He didn't want to lose her before he had to. And he had to keep Faye happy. He had to keep her at the apartment.

So that meant respecting her wishes.

But, _fuck_, this was annoying. He felt like a prisoner in his own home. _Okay. Last resort._

"Can I at least try to reason with him?" _Yeah, okay. Reason with the man. Right. _

Faye looked up from her soup which had slowly been congealing for the past hour she'd been neglecting it. She met his eyes for the first time in days, quickly adapting to their natural grey.

He'd left her late the night before after she'd fallen asleep to have himself "readjusted". His hair returned to it's regular and shorter brown. When she saw him for the first time as himself she didn't look disappointed, which pleased him. She actually looked relieved. That was the plan. He wanted her to be comfortable around him and he didn't feel that was going to happen while he was masquerading as her attacker.

When she looked into his eyes he felt that involuntary clenching of any one of his vital organs. To his simultaneous relief and crippling fear, she nodded her permission. He swallowed the hard lump in his throat and walked determinedly towards the door.

_I want to make her happy._

That's all there is to it.

**I love you so.**

**I need you now.**

**I want you back.**

**I can't go on.**

"Faye!"

Spike had been shouting her name over and over again, punctuating ever utterance of the single syllable with different parts of his body as he thrust himself at the door, for what seemed like an endless span of time. Never hard enough to destroy the door. He didn't want to burst in and drag her back to the ship like a caveman. He wanted her to open the door and want to come home.

He was knocking at first. Very gentlemanly. Very diplomatic. Trying to lull Calhoun into a false sense of security. He'd open the door and then after pounding Roscoe into the ground like a golf tee, Spike would convince Faye that she belonged back on the ship. And that things would be different this time.

Okay. It made better sense in his head on the way over here.

But no one was answering the door. And Spike became desperate. Every word carefully and painfully formulated in his head on the way over here morphing into her name, knuckles knotting and swelling as he continued to strike the door with an ever-tightening fist. And just like last night, when he began to vomit, he found he couldn't stop. Everything inside him cascading from a seemingly endless cavalcade of corners within himself.

His brain was fast-losing the race against his heart and that's when he began throwing himself against the door.

"Faye!"

_Ungh._

He grunted as his ribs throbbed, his shoulder hummed from the reawakening of a wound that had never been given the proper time to heal.

He fell against the door, moaning softly, energy finally depleted right down to the last drop of ire-induced adrenaline. He had nothing left. He slid along the doorframe and felt his knees sink into the carpet. He tried to catch his breath. He tried to stand up.

_Five minutes. I just need five minutes._

_Faye..._

The door opened slowly but when Spike looked up he wasn't too shocked to see that it wasn't Faye looking down at him, but Roscoe. Well, more or less. Actually more. Which was just what he needed. It was just the kick in the stomach necessary to convince him that this was stupid.

She had given up on him.

Spike looked past Roscoe through the sliver of space the door allowed him to see inside. To see her, maybe.

Roscoe didn't say anything. Just looked at him and Spike was unaccustomedly grateful for his silence.

He said quietly, into his lap, "I just want to say good-bye."

Roscoe exhaled deeply through is nostrils. After a lengthy pause, Spike felt a welcomed rush of cool air as Roscoe allowed the door to open a few inches more. Spike couldn't find any strength left in a single appendage to stand so he stayed where he was and called into the apartment, Faye's new home, soberly.

"I lied." And then louder, "I lied."

He waited and after several moments of silence he looked up at Roscoe, for what he didn't know. Roscoe nodded at him, encouraging him to continue. Spike forgot his puzzlement at the selfless act and continued.

"I said I'd follow you. I told you a while back that I'd follow you and screw up your new life so that you couldn't be without me." He pressed the small of his back against the doorframe, using it as a crutch to pull himself into a standing position. "I won't. I won't follow you. I won't sabotage this new life of yours. I mean I want to. People lie about shit like that, you know?" Not stopping, not expecting an answer, "People say 'well I just want you to be happy.' And it's bullshit. I don't want to think that you can ever be happy without me..."

He straightened, swayed only slightly, caught himself with a hand on his aching skull. "But...fuck. Forget it. I'm so tired." He felt his pockets for a cigarette, found nothing and shrugged his shoulders slightly. "I'm only as strong as you make me."

He met Roscoe's eyes again, not able to say the words but trying to convey to him that he wanted her to remain well cared for. Roscoe responded with the slightest nod of his head and slowly pushed the door closed as Spike turned back in the direction of the elevator.

When Spike heard the door's hinges mewl behind him, he had barely enough time to look back over his shoulder and see Faye's small form, those slight, white fingers, pull the door open again.

Her green eyes were large and moist, giving anguish a colour that day.

"Spike." She whispered.

Lyrics from The Replacements' _Here Comes A Regular_, Hefner's _I Stole A Bride_, and INXS' _The Loved One..._

So how's everyone? Good?

I love you.

And I miss you.

ssg.x.


	48. I See His Likeness In Her Eyes

Oh, dear.  
It's another interlude.  
Sorry, guys.

I love you.

ssg.x.

**Her tears have not truly been dried  
****'Til her tears have been dried  
****On his tattered shirt sleeves.  
****Her body has not truly been stripped  
****'Til her clothes have been ripped by his nail bitten fingers. **

He was exhausted but his arms found their way around her shoulders. Found a way to grip and tighten about her despite his hands slipping against the sweat cooling on the surface of her skin. He was out of breath and he used the scent of her hair, this unfamiliar but newly appointed favourite smell, a combination of Faye, grass, earth and evening, almost therapeutically. His breathing slowed, inhalations deepening, and some of the pressure on and around his heart was alleviated by his contracting lungs.

Ezekiel had slept with three girls before her. The first girl was his guitar tutor. A girl in highschool volunteering her time to bulk up her university applications. She was three years older than him and he'd never even had a girl's tongue in his mouth before. She'd had a fight with her boyfriend, he remembered, and was probably just getting back at the poor guy.

And he had been curious. So when she suggested to him they have a lesson on a Friday night, he went. He was in and out of there in an hour and a half and most of that time had been spent learning to play _Big Rock Candy Mountain_. He couldn't remember much about the act itself. Except that it was mercifully quick. He wanted to go home immediately afterwards. While he was putting his shoes on and zipping up his guitar case her boyfriend had called. He felt shitty and used (although, he supposed, he had used her in a way aswell) and didn't look back at her as he climbed the steps of her basement, slipping out the side door. With it being so close to the end of the year, he didn't feel terribly awful about lying to his parents about being sick for the last three or four lessons.

It wasn't a total untruth. Whenever he thought about what he'd done with her his stomach would heave.

The one good thing about it was that it meant the whole virginity thing was over with. One less thing for his fifteen-year-old mind to wrap around. His curiosity was satisfied. Although he did wonder if there was supposed to be more to it than that. She wasn't exactly writhing in ecstasy during the messy bits, and when she did begin to make noise he felt all embarrassed, more for her than himself, and would lose his concentration. At one point he almost laughed when she stuck her tongue in his ear. It was probably the most unsexy sensation in the world. Like a wet thumb or sponge being pushed in there.

His next couple of experiences were equally as spectacular to say the least.

Apparently the thing that was missing was Faye.

They sort of pulled at eachother's clothing, tugging the other by elbow, neck, arm, and hand in different directions, not sure where they were supposed to end up to consummate this neoteric relationship built on what felt like an ancient cornerstone. This thing that had been bubbling up between them since they'd first touched eachother with curious eyes in the palm of her hand during that assembly so many months earlier.

They ended up settling against the park maintenance shed and their clumsy dealings with eachother's clothing became more purposeful and focused now that they'd lost the distraction of _where_. Faye's fingers fiercely took up the collar of his shirt into her two clammy fists. His hands went to her waist, dropped to her hips, her thighs. His hands pushed at the pleats of her skirt, his fingers scratched and dented her flesh when he began tugging and dragging her tights, panties tangled and twisted in them, down her legs. She cursed under her breath as she struggled with the buttonfly of his jeans, the belt buckled clipped her knuckles noisily with each button opened. He moaned as the pressure against his groin was relieved, leaning heavily back against the wall of the shed. She fixed herself before him resolutely, her heels digging into the dirt beneath their feet. Hesitantly they met eachother's eyes, secretly wondering if the other wanted to back out, if they were having regrets about what could have been conceived as a hastily made, lust-infused decision.

Faye stepped back for a moment, looking down between them, the reality of what was about to happen suddenly hitting hard. She raised her eyes, remarking and pocketing forever the memory of the strong angles of his features coupled with the soft, dark velvet of his eyes. She felt an ache in her throat, an acutely sweet and sharp ache. A small smile played across her swollen lips, sparkled in her swelling tears.

"Don't be scared," she said.

"That's my line," he whispered breathlessly. He watched her carefully, slowly slip out her shoes and the black tights he'd managed to get no further than her knees. She waited patiently for him to catch his breath and get his bearings back. The cold night air caused her to shiver, the heat from within caused her to sweat and the combination of the two nearly caused her to faint. When it became evident that Ezekiel was too nervous to move, she finally conceded to checkmate. Pressing herself along the length of his body, her hands reached up around his neck coaxing him close enough to her mouth to breathe some life between his lips and into his lungs. He was still and then...

"Pick me up," she said gently. He obeyed. She steadied herself on one leg, the other wrapped around his hip as he gathered her up in his arms.

And just as he'd always predicted would happen, despite his cunning sexual prowess in his masturbatory dreams prior to ever even conceiving Faye Spector would _ever_ be a part of his reality, he clumsily entered her. Struggling for a moment or two, they began to move fluidly in and against eachother. She sobbed his name and he lost his focus, his legs beginning to melt beneath him. He floundered against the wall, falling to the ground with Faye still in his lap, his arms still holding her up around her hips.

"I'm sorry..." he moaned, feeling stupid. This was exactly what he was afraid of. He'd fucked up her first time, the completion of their reconciliation now ridiculously anti-climactic. He felt Faye's fingers in his hair. She pulled determinedly at his shoulder, pulled him deeper into the embrace now beneath him. Her knees bent on either side of his waist and he felt her begin to move again, heard her words in his ear, words no one would ever know except for him...

And it was then that he realized the truly stupid thing to do right now would be to stop.

**Lyrics taken from _The Librarian_ by Hefner. Don't sue.**


	49. I've Got Splinters In My Fingers

So.

Yes, the movie plot. Always the movie plot. Let's talk about the movie plot.

But first.****

**Measure by measure**

**Drop by drop  
And pound for pound**

**We're taking stock **

**Of all the treasure **

**Still unlocked **

**The love you found **

**Must never stop **

___Click._

_Click._

_Click._

The long and unbearably uncomfortable quiet provided, encouraged even, an escape.

A slideshow screened in his mind. Nice and slow.

_Click._

Soothing.

Sort of.

Soothing after all the panic, mind sparking, and heart denting various internal organs with its incessant, break-neck beating.

_Click._

Pictures of Julia. He couldn't remember exactly what she looked like, which saddened him at first. But he could still feel the essence of who she was and who they were together. Like going blind and missing the sight of words but still knowing the story through the sensation of fingertips slipping across raised ink.

He never chased her. Stupidly believing she just never loved him enough. Selfishly wanting to punish her for it. _So be it. Let her stay, then._ He waited for her as long as he could. It was raining. Cold and brutal. Bone-chilling rain made even more so as the hour dragged on without even the briefest appearance from the woman he'd died for.

He couldn't stay longer than an hour. It was too dangerous. They were always watching him. And at that point in his life he wanted to be dead in name only.

He thought he could come back for her. But he began to doubt how much she'd actually cared for him to begin with. It couldn't be helped. Always in the back of his mind he lamented his feeble attempts to keep from being alone in a room with her long before he'd kissed her. He was too weak-willed to keep from falling in love with his friend's lover.

One minute she was with Vicious and the next she was with him. And the seed of doubt was borne from this. Did she ever love him as much as she'd sworn to him? He did all this to save her. Had she ever wanted to be saved? If she could make the switch from Vicious to Spike so effortlessly, then she could easily leave Spike for the next attractive offer, couldn't she?

Spike had been a monster.

He 'd always known.

No dealings with Vicious had ever come and gone effortlessly.

He let her go. And what was the worst that could have happened had he gone after her? The outcome ended up being the same, didn't it? Except this ending was of his own will, his own fault. And being alive yet, he'd been sentenced now to carry the burden of his selfish actions with him for the rest of his life.

_Click._

And now Faye.

If his resolve to stay in her life crumbled now, he'd be spitting on the memory of Julia as well as Faye. He'd prove to the three of them that he had learned nothing from either of them. That their presence in his life had left nary a dent on him when that wasn't true at all. Every word, every touch they'd ever ventured, had turned him into this person standing here now.

He'd never fully understand the person he had been now that Julia was gone from him.

And he was afraid of what he'd become without Faye.

**Your hurt drizzles forth twice nightly**

**And I once held on to you so tightly**

**You were made of wood**

**And cried that no one understood**

**But I had splinters in my fingers**.

There were so many things Faye should have said to him earlier. She hadn't wanted to. Felt no duty to. But she remembered a time when someone hadn't wanted to listen to her. She remembered how much it hurt. How much time had been lost because of it. And history didn't have to repeat itself. Not if she wanted to have her way. And it was about time she had her way.

She stood quietly behind the door, hiding behind Roscoe. She'd been determined to let him leave. Determined to be strong.

_I'm only as strong as you make me._

Yes.

And now she stood and stared at him not knowing where to begin. It was like looking into the sun. The pain she'd caused him on his face and hurting her eyes with its near blatancy.

She moved for him and his arms, lax at his sides, came to life and captured her against him. She could feel him falling apart in her hands. She could feel him.

"Are you okay?" He said. He didn't seem to be asking this time. She sensed he wanted her to lie to him. She nodded and his chin came to rest against the top of her head. She didn't look up. She knew from the gurgling she could hear in his throat, from the way his shoulders curled around her and his adam's apple leapt against the side of her head, that he was crying. And she didn't want to humiliate him any further by watching him cry.

"I didn't do anything. I didn't do anything." He hiccuped.

"I know." Faye whispered. She stroked the hair at the nape of his neck and the movement made her remember herself.

"It was all a mistake. This is all a mistake." His body stopped its quaking, tempering itself to only a small agitating of his hands as he held her out at arm's length. "We'll get your things and --"

He tried to move past her into the apartment. Faye quickly stepped in front of him, blocking his way. Spike stared at her, stared into her, with the same eyes from the hospital. Faye stood her ground despite her desire to make him happy again, to dull his pain, suffocate it between them, her arms around him again...

Even if it meant sacrificing herself.

But it wasn't just _her_ anymore.

_I'm only as strong as you make me._

**I'm waiting for you to say  
The words to make me stay  
As you're walking out the door  
My heart steps on the floor  
I never dreamed it'd be  
  
I'm waiting for you to say  
The words to let me stay  
Standing here alone  
I never should have shown  
I never was the one  
To leave it so undone  
  
Sure feels like love again  
I wanna feel again  
Sure feels like love again  
I wanna feel... **

Spike had never kissed Julia good-bye. From the moment they'd been reunited in the cemetery right up to the last moment of her life, he'd never touched her. Not really. Not the way he'd wanted to. And it was one of his greatest regrets.

But kissing her would have been kissing her good-bye no matter what they would have otherwise been thinking. And he knew that would have been hard. He was going to go after Vicious and the odds of him coming out of that in one single piece were too slim for him to place even the lowest bet. So he made a decision not to kiss Julia. He barely even held her back when she put her arms around him that day. And he wondered sometimes if the pain of his loss would have been that much greater, that much more difficult to live with, if he _had_ kissed her.

In the near-darkest recesses of his thoughts Spike wondered if he'd kiss Faye good-bye if he had to.

"I know..." He began, rather desperately, almost panting, "I know I haven't been good to you. But if you come back I can do it. I was rotten. I know I was so fucking awful to you -"

Faye stopped him when her hand closed around his. Her fingers flexed and unflexed as she began to speak, her eyes never meeting his. "I don't want you to apologize. I don't want you to be sorry. I understand. I understand why you acted the way you did. And I'm the one who needs to be sorry." She drew her hand away and Spike didn't move fast enough to secure her back to him.

"You were afraid you'd lose her. You were afraid you'd forget." She continued. Her voice trembled lightly. She tried to hide it behind a smile but Spike could see how strained she was to do so. "I understand how you felt all those months. Because I feel it now, too."

Spike blinked. His stomach began to ache. His head processed her words but his heart couldn't work through them quite so smoothly.

"I remember him, Spike."

It all made sense. Every fucking last second of everything that had happened over the past couple of days finally made sense. And he felt sick for it.

_Ezekiel._

Faye finally looked up at him. She choked back a sob as he pulled her against him again, his arms threatening to break her with the sudden strength in them.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." She said over and over again. She heard sounds, harmonizing with her own, beneath his shirt. His arms tightening around her even further.

"No, no, no, no..." He was moaning into her hair. She was apologizing for something she hadn't yet done. Something she was going to do. He felt her hands come around him, felt the hesitation humming in every fingertip as though she were afraid she'd hold him too tightly and not be able to let go.

"I'm sorry." She sighed shakily.

Spike pushed her from him with an impetuous fierceness, a strident cry of "No!" escaping him. He turned to glare at her. "Don't do this, Faye. Don't do this. I can't forgive you for something you had the power to keep from happening."

"I can't come back with you, Spike. Don't you see? I remember him. I _remember_ him..." She whispered, turning away.

"Faye. Don't do this. I can't come back from this. We can't come back from this. Stay here if you want. Stay here and get better and I'll wait." He suggested, grasping at straws.

He could tell her mind was made up and he was only hurting her now. He was only making this more difficult for her. _Well, fuck her_. She'd made him love her, hadn't she? This was what she'd wanted, wasn't it? Well, here he was now. Not wanting to be without her.

He was a monster _she'd_ created.

_She_ would have to destroy him.

"Spike...you don't understand. I _remember_ him. I remember _everything_."

Spike said his next words slowly. Quietly. Comprehension creeping in at a snail's pace. He looked across at Faye who leaned back tiredly against the wall opposite him. "You love him. Even now. Is that what -"

"I'm sor--"

"Don't fucking tell me you're sorry." He said brokenly. Faye bit her lip with the strength to draw blood from it.

Spike swallowed hard, making an unconscious decision.

He approached her, capturing her face between his hands. He didn't look at her before pressing his lips to hers. She hung limply from his grip, her mouth wet, her lips opening like any of the other dozen kisses they'd shared in the past, but this time he derived no pleasure from it. If it was only for Ezekiel that she'd ever kissed him, he had left Spike now. And who did that make Spike?

He breathed a curse as he pulled away from her.

_Always go with your first instinct. It's usually the right one._

He stepped back in the direction of the elevator too ashamed to look at Faye again. His fist smacked against the buttons and he turned completely away from her, leaning his forehead against the wall over the blinking lights. He examined his clenched fist as it fell apart and down to his side.

"Tell me you love me." He barely begged her.

It was like a race. Whoever made the next sound would get him as their prize, be it Faye still unmoving against the wall behind him, or the elevator to take him downstairs and away from this place.

Four minutes later, Spike stepped out from the lobby and into the street.

**Lyrics from Echo & The Bunnymen's_ Never Stop_, Buffalo Tom's _Treehouse_, and Black Rebel Motorcycle Club's _Evol_.**

Movie plot? Next chapter, my friends. Next chapter. :)

I love you.

ssg.x.


	50. Knowing Full Well The Earth Will Rebel

So.

I wasn't going to post this chapter because it's actually technically only half a chapter. I'm still working on the other half and wasn't sure how long it would be before I'd finished the whole thing. At the urging of a friend, I'm posting it as it is. Unfinished. But his logic was that some of it was better than none of it. All I'm hoping is that your thoughts on this chapter might loose the second half of it out of my head or my ass, as the case may be......

Thanks for all the reviews... I want to make more direct and personal thank you's and whatnots and perhaps answer some of your questions, but I'm tired right now and I want to do it properly so I hope you'll all bear with me. Keep the questions and comments coming, though. They really keep me going. People say that alot and some of them mean it and some of them don't. I'm one of those 'mean it' people.

You've been such friendly folk. You deserve so much better.

I love you.

ssg.x.

* * *

Roscoe wrapped his arms about himself, shrugging into his wool coat. Fall was coming and even though the weather on Mars was normally relatively mild year-round, there was still an underlying chill that began to work its way into your bones in early October.

He moved to bring a hand through his hair, miscalculating where it started, fingers closing around air. He'd gotten used to the longer, shaggier hair of his character over the past year. When he'd woken up this morning in his own bed for the first time in what seemed like a millennium, he'd been surprised at how different he looked.

It took a few moments of adjustment before he could begin shaving. Smaller details, like his nose looking rounder and his chin and cheekbones appearing softer, were the changes that really struck him. His lips were fuller and his eyes appeared wider. Silver. Almost making him appear naive. Even though he guessed he was approximately the same age as Spike, Roscoe appeared much younger now.

What couldn't be done with make-up was usually done with lasers. Skin was pulled whichever way it had to to get the look of the character right. While all this easy surgery made his acting range nearly infinite, Roscoe never looked quite the same as before after being readjusted. Some things just stuck. To look at old photos didn't help him put the puzzle back together. He had his first adjustment for a next-to-leading role in a teenage sex comedy at the age of eighteen and if it wasn't for all the surgery since then who knew what he may have grown up to look like.

Readjustment was both a blessing and a curse in the acting universe. There were many parts he knew he wouldn't have gotten simply because he didn't look the part. There were still shitty actors out there getting parts, but the creme de la creme was more likely to go to someone talented now that looks weren't always an issue.

He felt like a cigarette. He hadn't realized how much he'd come to enjoy smoking during the filming. Or maybe he didn't enjoy it. Maybe he just needed it now.

He wondered why he'd been nice to the guy. He wondered why he didn't seem to hate him anymore. Or didn't have the energy to. All this was rather worrisome. Bad enough that his head had been buzzing with thoughts of the Ana situation, which he still hadn't a clue how to handle. He'd resigned himself to his feelings for Faye. He was too far gone to talk himself out of that now.

But now _him_, too.

He looked back over his shoulder, trying to see into the apartment, but the thick glass doors and the setting sun distorted his view and only allowed him the slanted silhouettes of furniture and lamps. He knew she was in her room. The whole reason he'd come out here in the first place was because he couldn't bear the sounds of her sobbing. A weltering of guttural sounds barely contained by the walls that surrounded and sheltered her now.

He could tell himself the reason he had handled Spike the way he did was to make Faye happy.

But he knew that wasn't truly the case.

He realized he wanted Spike to stay in the picture. Because as long as Spike was in the picture, Roscoe couldn't be. And Roscoe needed to put up as many boundaries around Faye to keep himself out as possible. The integrity of those already existing was coming apart fast.

There was still Ezekiel, though. A wall made from that would be a tough one to take down.

Roscoe hadn't realized how powerful a weapon Ezekiel was, though, until this afternoon. The sheer memory of him thrust Spike from their lives like shrapnel.

He would have to remember that. It might be useful later.

You just never know with these things.

* * *

********

**as lucid as hell  
****and these images  
moving so fast  
****like a fever  
so close to the bone  
******

**i don't feel too well**

When he'd first been given the assignment of watching Faye, which was clearly a bullshit job any yob could do, Roscoe's pride had been slightly injured. He was aware his experience in this field was somewhat limited to the world of make-believe and motion pictures, but still. He resented being relegated to the sidelines when his whole reason for becoming involved in this at all was to do something excitingand_ real._ He'd felt like he had been merely playing himself. Doing things and never feeling anything. Not even the real and intense misery or elation of major events in his life.

He was just the outline of the man he could be. No guts or blood or bones.

Then there was a meeting. And he was given a package. His heart trilled. It was just like the movies. Like meeting a superstar. The mysterious package that had starred in so many spy movies throughout history.

Needless to say, when Roscoe opened it only to discover tonnes of newspaper wrapping and a single cd, he was pretty bummed out. When he listened to the cd during one of Faye's long baths, alone and quietly in his room, he was annoyed that it only appeared to be a music cd. One song. Not even the vaguely interesting suspicion that it may contain subliminal messages could have brightened his spirits. It was like this whole thing was one big joke and he was the butt of it.

"Play it."

"What is it?"

"Play it for her continuously and get out of there. There should be no distractions. Try to get her to relax. Sleep." A new voice. Whenever there was a call, it was always accompanied by a new voice. The only similarities between them thus far had been their refusal to answer any of Roscoe's questions.

So he slipped it into his entertainment system, switching on the built-in wall speakers in every room and keeping the volume low, the music only barely audible as he moved through the apartment.

He insisted to her that she relax, convincing her to spend the rest of the afternoon in bed but arranged to have the cleaning lady, Mrs. Loman, come just to be sure that if Faye needed any sort of medical attention, she would be able to find her and call for help.

He left for the set feeling ill at ease. There _was_ something on that disc. Something meant for Faye that his novice ears couldn't pick up. He was afraid to leave her alone and he felt stupid for casting off the whole thing as a possible joke.

Sure enough, a call from the Mrs. Loman's head office came in on his phone that evening.

"I'm sorry, sir. Mrs. Loman was unable to get into the apartment for this afternoon's cleaning."

"Ms. Valentine didn't answer the door?"

"No, sir. Mrs. Loman knocked several times but there was no answer."

Panicked, Roscoe excused himself rather brusquely from dinner with several other cast and crew members, practically stopped a cab by throwing his entire body in front of it, and rushed home. All the while he told himself he was probably worrying for nothing. Perhaps Faye had just fallen asleep. He did tell her to take it easy, after all.

He checked in with the concierge who informed him that several complaints from the older gentleman who lived next door to him had come in about the shouting coming from Roscoe's apartment. The concierge told him rather apologetically that the man had taken matters into his own hands and called for someone to come and check it out and that they would probably be arriving shortly.

"What sort of shouting?" Roscoe's fingernails dug into his thigh through the lining of his pockets. He jangled his keys in the other hand, impatiently waiting for the concierge to offer more information.

"A couple arguing. A man and a woman."

And then the madness ensued.

And now. Now there was another package waiting for him beneath his mattress. It had been quietly slipped to him just after his surgery smoothly while he was still suffering from post-procedure grogginess. He'd only had the time to peel back just enough of the thick brown paper to see that it was another disc before Spike waged war on Roscoe's door.

On seeing the disc, he'd immediately wanted to throw up, his stomach roiling and his tongue feeling like it was going to swell up in his mouth and block off the oxygen to his lungs.

He hadn't looked at it since.

* * *

**and i will go anywhere you say  
just tell me the sure secrets of your house**

****

Roscoe didn't hear the door slide open, but suddenly he could feel her standing not five feet away from him. Through the corner of his eye he could see that she was standing near the rail of the balcony they stood on holding a blanket around her shoulders, knotted in a fist pressed firmly against her heart.

"Are you hungry? I can re-heat your soup if you'd like." He offered inanely. He wanted to hear her voice.

He wanted to know how badly he'd managed to mess her up to better gauge how shitty he should be feeling.

Faye seemed to almost smile as she shook her head and her dark hair blew across her face, cheeks still raw and red, lips still swollen.

Roscoe turned back to watch the sky changing colour. October always brought ruddy dark skies the colour of brick with its sunsets. He liked this time of year best. All the people around him running from offices, factories, and schools to get inside before night dropped from space like a rich velvet curtain. So many people.

But he would take his time getting home. And it didn't escape him that it was because he didn't look forward to being at home like so many of these people passing him in the street did. That acting like he had a purpose in life was a reasonable enough facsimile that when the day was over he was sorry for it.

And now. Now night and darkness took away from him just like it did everyone else. She would retire to her room and he wouldn't get to see her again until morning.

"Roscoe." Softly.

"Hm?" Dreamily.

"What do you know about me?"

Roscoe closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. _Please don't let her know anything._ _It's too soon._

"Nothing." He said too quickly. Then gentler, "Well, I mean you haven't told me anything. But..."

"But...?" She pulled gently at the blanket, coaxing it further up over her shoulders. She never looked his way and waited patiently as he filed through his thoughts.

Roscoe moistened his tongue in his mouth and swallowed, hoping the sound of it was much louder in his head than in her ears.

"I can guess things about you. Like, from the things you do and say. But that's all just -"

"Tell me." She said.

"Well." Roscoe began. He dropped his head back from his shoulders, the cold suddenly refreshing against the hot skin of his throat and temples. "I'd guess you aren't from here. Mars I mean. But...more than that. It's like...okay, like how you look at different things. When I see you look at things you have this look in your eyes. Like you're trying really hard not to get too excited. There's this child inside you and she's scared and awestruck and curious and you try so hard..."

He stopped because he could see a tear moving rapidly along her face and his hand instinctively came out to brush it away. Her hand got there first, though, and his fingers touched hers for a fragment of a second. She seemed rather unaffected by it but he couldn't speak for a moment afterwards.

"Try so hard...?" She whispered.

"To hide her. You try so hard to hide her."

"She makes me do stupid things." She said.

"Like what?"

"Get attached to things that can't last forever. Want to save people who don't want to be saved. Trust." Her mask seemed to slip and he could see so much pain on the sliver of truth that was revealed to be beneath it that he almost choked.

He cleared his throat softly. "Those don't sound like entirely stupid things to me. And not terribly childish, either." He hoped anyways. Otherwise he was truly dead and the game was really over. "Except..."

His throat tightened. He closed his eyes.

He could hear Faye turn slightly to encourage him to speak.

"Except that last one."

He hoped that if by finally looking straight into her eyes this way now and risking her seeing the soul of whatever it was he was feeling for her he could, at the very least, convey to her the importance of his next few words.

Looking into her eyes he could almost forget all that was going on around them and inside him. He could almost want to stay alive long enough to make sure she eventually found her happiness. Even if it would never be with him.

But he stared past her beautiful face and concentrated on his message.

"Don't trust anyone, Faye. Don't ever trust _anyone_."

Faye looked as though she were going to run back into her room for a moment before her face softened. Her hand reached gently along the railing and touched the sleeve of his coat at his elbow. Her thumb and forefinger gingerly pressed against him and he felt a tremor run along his spine and through his legs.

"Is it bad that I think I might be starting to trust you?"

Roscoe pulled back and slipped through the open door back into an almost suffocating warmth from his livingroom ignoring the curious glance from those powerful green eyes he could make out even in the swiftly pressing darkness .

"Don't." He whispered under his breath. Then over his shoulder, to Faye, "Don't trust anyone."

* * *

Lyrics taken from Crowded House's_ Pineapple Head_ and _Time Immemorial. _


	51. See That The Sun Keeps Shining

_Jesus Christ._

_Ana, you've truly reached new depths of desperation. You might as well be hanging around outside of his fucking locker between classes._

Ana struggled perilously with a thread that dangled from the hem of her only non-monochromatic item of clothing - a dark purple skirt that actually stopped about an inch and a half above her knees, unheard of from the likes of her. She wondered as she pulled at the never ending piece of thread if the skirt was going to just fall apart around her ankles from her efforts.

While the skirt she'd bravely chosen to wear hovered above her knees, she still hadn't quite grown the balls to go without her black tights beneath the risque piece of clothing. But she_ had_ purchased nude-coloured nylons for the first time since she could remember.

She hadn't popped into the drugstore around the corner from her apartment for anything other than the necessities in a long time necessities usually went along the lines of migraine medication, feminine hygiene products, and the occasional family-sized bag of oatmeal raisin cookies. Standing in the huge, brightly lit aisle that housed everything from cosmetics to diet pills which she slowed for as she passed to hair products to strange appliances you were apparently supposed to strap to your face to melt the wrinkled skin off your skull she could only assume, Ana felt really out of touch with the Land of Girl. It was like all this stuff was happening and Ana had been circling the planet in a satellite, never close enough to see how time was making its changes.

Despite the sensory overload, Ana managed to become intrigued by a pair of control top pantyhose as well as a strange product in a can called _Pairfection_ which was apparently some sort of airbrushing for your legs in lieu of wearing nylons. Ana weighed the pros and cons of both, her hands dipping and raising unconsciously with the weight of the two choices in her hands.

Airbrushed legs could almost guarantee she wouldn't be spending the next couple of hours either not having the ability to take deep breaths or not having to constantly pull 'controlling' fabric out of her ass and crotch. She wouldn't have to worry about getting a run or pinch as the result of an inevitable act of clumsiness.

However, would her perfectly bronzed legs end up in a puddle inside her shoes if it started to rain? Plus she'd never even been able to bring herself to eat _cheese_ from a can, so body parts might be too much of a leap for her right now.

Pantyhose could act as a barrier between her thighs. A definite safety precaution. She couldn't guarantee a fire wouldn't break out from her thighs rubbing together during the walk over here.

Pantyhose also came with control-top-thigh-slimming-bump-smoothing-ass-narrowing-long-leg-making action.

Right. Pantyhose it is.

She pulled on an old concert tee and a black v-neck sweater then proceeded to bounce off almost every piece of furniture in her room trying to pull the pantyhose up and over her hips. Once she had her skirt on she examined herself probably a little too thoroughly in the bathroom mirror, finally deciding that the next time she'd wear pantyhose would be when they invented control top-to-bottoms.

However, not to trash a not entirely bad thing, Ana _did_ make the decision to wear her black tights on top of the nylons.

**In my dreams **

**I'll catch you  
Into my arms **

**I'll catch you  
Do you mind **

**If I always love you?**

Ana wondered if twenty-four hours was enough time to leave before making an attempt to see Jet again without looking creepy. She had made sure to arm herself with some bits of information regarding the movie she'd acquired through dozens of furiously made phone calls that she hoped he might find useful. And if he didn't find them useful, at least she would still have successfully feigned a reason for coming all this way. She'd mentally remarked the location of the dock she'd dropped him and Spike off at yesterday, saying it over and over several times to herself once they'd said their good-byes until she could get her hands on a pen and some paper to write it down with.

And here she was finally, scrubbed and scraped clean and in her finest fineries well... and ready to approach the ship. She circled the helm several times trying to figure out how the hell one was supposed to actually get on a fishing vessel but luckily she spotted someone walking away from the ship and across the dock back towards the street. She walked briskly towards her and called out.

"Hey!"

The person seemed to speed up at the sound of her voice, but Ana figured her self-deprecating nature had finally managed to poison every last thought in her head to make her believe not a single person wanted to have anything to do with her. She snickered to herself and then stopped abruptly when she noticed the long red curls that spiraled down the stranger's back and bounced with every step. A woman. A thin woman with hips that rolled as she walked -- ran now -- east towards the strip before losing herself in the crowd of tourists that packed that area every weekend, even so late in the year.

Shit.

Thoughts raced through her head at lightening speed. Each of them feeling like lightening, too, striking different internal organs as they moved through her system. _He has a girlfriend. I've read all these signals incorrectly. He was just being friendly. They're always just being friendly. I don't want any friends. I don't want to be one of the guys anymore. This was a mistake. An awful mistake._

Ana took off her glasses and cleaned them with one of her sleeves. She hadn't taken a step but she stumbled nonetheless, her ankle rolling onto its side. She crouched down, still rubbing her sleeve over the same lense over and over again. She tried to get her bearings back. She didn't want to start crying again. Before the near-incident at the hospital, she hadn't cried since she was a child.

Twice in twenty-four hours. She'd really fallen hard for this guy.

She didn't even blink when her date for the prom ended up ditching her at an after-party to have sex with the girl who'd refused him when he asked her before Ana. She didn't get upset because she'd been expecting it. She was always expecting it. But she didn't expect it from Jet. Jet was so nice. A gentleman even. And she hadn't thought there were any of those left, figuring they'd all been buried beneath the rubble of Earth after the gate accident.

He _was_ a nice guy. This was all her fault. She'd made the mistake of letting down her defenses. She should have known he was just being nice. It's just that guys weren't all that nice to her so she'd figured...well...

_I'm such an idiot._

She stood and brushed the bits of sand and gravel from the knees of her tights with one hand, replacing her glasses with the other. When she looked up, wondering what she was going to do with the rest of her very long evening, Jet was settling himself on a crate he'd brought out onto the deck. He had a cigarette clamped between his lips and Ana chuckled sourly to herself. _Post-coital cigarette, anyone?_

He finally looked up after a long and very audible sigh and his eyes widened. And then his smile did.

"It's good to see you." He said. "Let's go grab something to eat, huh?"

Ana didn't move. She should have learned a lesson just now. She _had _learned a lesson, hadn't she?

Jet approached her, tucking the unlit cigarette from between his lips into his pocket. He offered her his arm. She took it.

"That's a nice skirt." He said quietly. Ana suddenly felt three inches taller and twenty pounds lighter. Light enough to float.

She'd never been that fast a learner, anyways.

**If you go  
I won't cry  
Though the good is gone  
From the word goodbye**

**If you go  
I'll understand  
Leave me just enough love  
To fill up my hand**

_"This is new."_

_"Hm?" Spike stirred from his half-sleep. Faye was happy when he didn't immediately try to shuck his body from hers on awakening as he had that first time they'd woken up together. _

_That first time together she remembered she had pretended to be sleeping, although that was a bit of a stretch since he had to practically roll her body off his mattress to free himself. He'd pulled his arm out from under her, cursing in whispers, then swiftly grabbed up a couple of towels from under the pile of greasy work clothes packed in the small space between his nightstand and his bed, again tipping the mattress enough that she'd have to be dead not to notice, before stumbling from the room like he was leaving the scene of the crime._

_But this time she had felt his fingers squeeze her shoulder as though to be certain she was still there. In fact, to be certain she was still there and staying there._

_She had been awake for some time. She knew she should probably be getting the two of them up and dressed and ready to go but she felt so warm and happy._

_And frightened out of her fucking mind._

_She wondered what would happen when they were back on the ship. She knew she could die from just one more withering look from him. Those eyes could be dark and warm and rich like brandy but when you drank them in the wrong way they'd burn your insides and leave your throat raw like exposed wounds. _

_Those were the times his eyes were just dark. Like space. And Faye still didn't feel as though she knew a helluva lot about either._

_"This is new."_

_"Hm?"_

_"This mark."_

_"What mark." Not a question. The statement neither lead nor followed by oxygen. He knew what mark she was talking about._

_"This one on your chest." Her finger prodded at it gently. She heard him draw the smallest sharpest breath._

_"I've had it for ages."_

_"How did you do it?" She knew it was new. She didn't remember it from the last time they were together. And she remembered everything about that. Even before she'd ever wanted to._

_"I was smoking in bed. I fell asleep." He replied._

_"And you accidentally tried to screw the burning end of a cigarette into your chest?" She tried to joke. He didn't make a sound. Faye pressed her hand over it protectively. Her lips brushed gently over his heart but it wasn't the right time to kiss him. She could feel his skin tighten beneath her own. Like water over rocks._

_"It still hurts you."_

_Spike was quiet for a moment. Like he was thinking about it._

_"No. It doesn't."_

_Somehow she sensed they weren't talking about the same thing anymore._

**Lyrics from Thievery Corporation's _Heaven's Gonna Burn Your Eyes_ and _If You Go Away_ - _Ne Me Quitte Pas_ twenty thousand versions of this song, french and english, composed by Jacques Brel and Rod McKuen...lately I've really been enjoying the version Emiliana Torrini does. I love you. ssg.x.**


	52. You Make Me Smile With My Heart

**_No music? This is madness!_**

**_However, the lyrics in the summary are taken from 'My Funny Valentine' Richard Rodgers, Lorenz Hart - I was listening to the version performed by Nico at the time of writing this..._**

* * *

"Okay. I'm trying to be good about this. I'm trying to be as understanding and as sensitive as possible but honestly, Niall, I'm starting to get worried. And angry."

Niall watched with concern as his wife peeked out through the curtains of one of the diningroom windows for the thirtieth time in the past twenty-five minutes. Bea watched curiously and with mild amusement, chewing slowly on her green beans. She loved her sister but she also loved the drama of watching Faye argue with her parents.

Tonight it could distract from the near-failing grade on her math test.

"She's probably just met up with some friends. It was her first day back in a while. They're all probably just catching up. Come and finish eating, honey. I have a lot of paperwork to do after dinner and we haven't had a chance to talk tonight." He approached his wife and squeezed her shoulders gently, slowly guiding her away from the window and back to her chair at the table.

"We _are_ talking." She snapped. She snatched up her fork and knife and started to saw with unnecessary ferocity at her chicken cutlets. Niall almost snickered to himself but wisely sobered before his wife caught him. He didn't want to make her any angrier while she had that steak knife in her hand.

"Come now, dear. She'll turn up. She's had a rough few months, remember. And this is the first time she's been out of the house in so long. Maybe the fresh air will do her some good." He practically pleaded with her.

He saw his wife tiredly set her cutlery down beside her barely touched plate. She glared at him for a moment but her face quickly softened and he could almost make out a smile. The same dazzling smile that had been absent from the face of his eldest daughter these past few months.

"Niall. You spoil them so."

He sighed shortly, relieved to have her back. "Maggie..."

"She's still not as well as she should be. I'm not worrying for nothing, am I? The last time we let her out for an evening to 'get some fresh air' she ended up on the local news."

"I know you worry. I worry, too. But we can't carry her around in our pockets. And she's a young woman now. I'm sure she'll be back any minute." He glanced at his watch not so quickly that Maggie didn't notice.

"You keep looking at your watch."

"I have lots of work to get to. I just want to make sure I leave enough time tonight to do it before bed." Something about the tone of his voice. Something about the way his hands moved for his fork and knife.

She'd known him and his children for far too long not to know he was hiding something from her.

"Niall... Do you know where Faye is right now?" Her eyes narrowed, eyebrows raised. Niall looked up at his wife across the table with a shrug of his shoulders, heavy with feigned innocence.

"Of course not." He said steadily. He clumsily speared a piece of meat with his fork and brought it to his mouth. Maggie watched him intensely.

"Oh for God's sake, Niall! You've known where she was this entire time, haven't you?"

Niall chewed his mouthful of food and swallowed it before he could think up another half-truth.

"I don't know where she is, Maggie. Honestly."

Maggie reluctantly began to eat before pausing when something else seemed to occur to her. "But you know who she's _with_, don't you?"

Niall's eyes sparkled and finally he laughed. "Okay. Yes. I know who she's with."

"Please don't say she's with Ezekiel, Niall."

Niall looked back up at his wife, confused. "Why? You like Ezekiel, don't you? You always told me you liked the boy."

"Yes, Niall. I _liked_ him a lot. He _was_ a nice boy. I'm not entirely sure I saw him having a future with her but I wasn't going to begrudge her any time with him. However, if I remember correctly, Ezekiel was last heard to be..." Maggie glanced over at Beatrice who seemed to be suitably involved in hiding pieces of zucchini beneath the heavy sauce that accompanied the cutlets. She looked back at her husband, catching his eyes and mouthing the word "_incarcerated_".

"Mom, I watch the news, too, you know." Beatrice replied matter-of-factly.

"Be quiet and eat your zucchini." Maggie snapped.

"He's out now." Niall said carefully.

Maggie frowned. "Oh, Niall. You didn't get involved, did you? That's something for_ his_ parents to take care of. You and I should be worrying about our own children."

"I _was_ worrying about our own children."

"You know what I mean. His parents should have been the ones to get him out."

"We both know if it were up to his parents, he'd stay in there. Those crazy Jesus freaks would have left him in there thinking that was God's will or something equally ridiculous. I talked to some people and..."

"_Talked to some people_? Talked to who about what?" Maggie cut in abruptly.

"I could barely stand it having her walk from room to room looking like a ghost. She wasn't eating, Maggie. What was I supposed to do?"

Maggie sat back in her chair, exasperated. "They'd broken up, remember? And _he_ was the one who left your daughter. He left your daughter and she made herself sick about it. As far as I'm concerned he could have _stayed_ in there. And on top of it all, you used your position to get him out? We aren't that kind of people, Niall."

A muscle in Niall's jaw leapt as he clenched his knife and fork in blanched fists. "He got taken away for defending her. As far as I'm concerned, I couldn't have asked for anyone better for Faye. She's grown so much around him. She's come out of her shell. And, yes, you know what? I've never used who we are to get any special treatment from anyone, so I figure God'll forgive me for using it once for a good cause - and I think that Faye's happiness is a pretty damn good cause."

"And how can you even guarantee she's with him right now? He broke up with her. What makes you think he went to find her? What makes you think she's forgiven him." Maggie very nearly shouted. Ezekiel had been such a nice boy. She'd trusted him, too. And she felt as though he'd betrayed her almost as much as he had Faye. It was childish, but she felt like her own husband had been cohorting with the enemy.

Niall stood from the table, wiping his mouth with his cloth napkin and dropping it behind him onto the seat of his chair. He walked over to his wife, silently taking her hands, unwinding them from the edge of the table and softening them with a few gentle strokes of his fingers. He knelt down by her chair and took her head between his hands, kissing her forehead. Her hair - short, dark and bobbed like her daughter's - still smelled like apples. Even after all these years.

"Because you forgave me."

Maggie closed her eyes and sighed deeply, cupping her hands around his.

Beatrice, though her heart swelled in her small chest at witnessing the intimate moment between her parents, made a gagging sound as she pretended to vomit.

* * *

**_This is new for me. An interlude that also serves to move the plot along. I'm treading unfamiliar ground, I tells ya. _**

**_I love you. Let's talk soon, huh?_**

**_ssg.x._**


	53. I'm In Love Without You

**We're going to be diving headfirst into Movie Land soon, kiddies. Pack cookies for the trip. I'm rather partial to Chips Ahoy although I do also enjoy those fruit-centred Peak Freens. I'll leave it up to you. **

**If you guys have any questions about the time-leaping or anything else, feel free to email me. Now is the time. It's only going to get more confusing from here if you're not entirely sure what's happening now. :) I was going to do a summary for people who are sort of trying to put things together I know it's been confusing with all the jumping around... but I'm not entirely sure what people want to know so it's actually better for all of us if you write me direct questions, then I can answer them at the beginning of the next chapter. :)**

**I love you.**

**Be good, okay?**

**ssg.x.**

* * *

On returning to the ship, Spike undressed for a long bath. He smelled too much like Faye. Her skin. He'd laid the clothes out on his bed and meticulously picked every last one of her hairs from each item before depositing it all into the machine. He'd then stripped the sheets from his bed, something he hadn't done since probably long before he'd left the ship for the syndicate. Definitely not since he and Faye had lain in them together. He balled the sheets up and shoved them under his bed, not wanting to have to leave the room again.

And then he slept because you couldn't really hurt in dreams. And if you did, it was always somewhat numbed by the distraction created by pink elephants and streets made from chocolate frosting.

When he woke up hours later, Spike wandered into the living area half-hoping Jet wasn't there to feel sorry for him and half-hoping he was because he missed their sometimes-hit-sometimes-miss conversations.

What he found instead was Ed.

Spike hadn't seen her for the past couple of days either because she had wandered off again or more likely because he'd just been too caught up in his own shit to notice her presence on the ship. However, he was strangely comforted to find her seated on the coffee table quietly tapping the keys of her cardboard computer.

He moved gingerly towards the couch so not to disturb her but realized it was all for naught when Ed's arm shot out towards him, a beaded necklace rattling and dangling from her small fist. Spike leaned over curiously and stared at it. She waited patiently for him to take it from her before hopping over the tomato and up the steps, disappearing into a darkened corridor just as Jet emerged into the light with Ein following close behind.

He felt Jet's eyes on him as he rolled a small blue bead between nicotine-stained fingertips and tried to will away the ache in his stomach and quivering on his ribs.

"There's some extra cash in the coffee tin by the stove. You should get yourself something to eat. Get your strength back. We have a lot of work to do." Jet instructed gruffly.

"You want szechuan?" Spike asked hoarsely.

"Just get something for yourself. I'm not hungry."

Spike nodded to himself, squeezing his fist around the necklace, wincing when one of the clay beads popped and powdered with the pressure of his palm. He immediately bunched the rest of the beads and tucked them into one of the few pockets on his work pants.

Jet exhaled heavily, dragging the sound out while rubbing at his mechanical elbow. "Are you okay?"

Spike looked across the room at him and the two men found themselves staring rather evenly at eachother for the first time in eons. Spike was the first to look away. But not before tossing his chin in Jet's direction, a ghost of a grin almost appearing in its wake. "Yeah. I'm okay."

Jet made his way down the steps determinedly. He flipped the switch on his computer and settled into the armchair, turning the monitor towards him as the old thing coughed and sputtered loudly during its load-up.

"Good. Now I can check up on the other one." He said.

Spike stretched and lay back on the couch, squirming various body parts as he searched for his recently neglected groove in the long orange cushion. He fought the urge to ask who 'the other one' was. He knew who Jet was talking about but he was afraid if he said her name aloud he'd start to unravel again. The temporary bandage wrapped around the pain had been done so precariously to keep him functional just long enough for him to figure out what he was going to do next.

Spike felt as though he were witnessing an event.Under less stressful circumstances, Spike would have found endless amusement in the fact that Jet was actually _calling_ Faye to see if she was okay. It was so familial. So _normal_ that is _wasn't_. He remembered back to a time when Jet was actually going to leave Faye high and dry and a victim to her own brashness and stupidity when she'd been taken and offered in exchange for Spike.

She looked pretty that night.

_Fuck._

"Calhoun. Jet Black. Just checking in on our girl. How is she?"

_Our_ girl?

"Hello, Mr. Black. Tired. But she seems to be feeling a little better."

Spike closed his eyes and sang a song in his mind, running the lyrics over the insides of his eyelids. The sound drowning out her whispers and moans. The words lapping and lulling the green fire of her eyes.

_Yes you who must leave everything that you cannot control._

_It begins with your family, but soon it comes 'round to your soul._

_Well I've been where you're hanging, I think I can see how you're pinned:_

_When you're not feeling holy, your loneliness says that you've sinned._

"How are you, girl?"

Spike sucked in a breath, holding it in his throat until it grew sore. He waited for her words. He wondered if Jet had managed to get her on a vid-comm. or not. Was Jet looking at her right now? Could _he_ be looking at her right now, too? He didn't move and Faye was silent. He could hear her breathing, the sound thick and almost corporeal. His thumb moved without him meaning for it, stroking the air as though it were her cheek or collarbone. God, he hated her so much right now.

"Did Spike get home okay?"

_This was never home. _

_And now._

"Yeah. He's here. He's fine. Are_ you_ okay?"

"I'm fine." He couldn't see it but he could feel the smile, could taste the ripples of laughter, sad and soft, on his tongue. "I can't believe you actually _called_ me."

They both laughed and Spike felt angry, jealous and alienated. He turned his back to them, rolling over to face the back of the couch. He struggled to remember the rest of the lyrics to that old song but nothing was coming to him.

"You'll take care of him. Right?" You. Spike. Love. Sorry. Words she'd said to him with the same lilt her voice held as she spoke those words to Jet. He pressed his forehead into the crook of the couch. He pushed the heel of his hand into his good eye. Hard.

"_You've_ already taken care of me." Spike muttered into the cushion.

There was an awkward pause between Jet and Faye and Spike realized that she'd probably somehow managed to hear him. "He doesn't mean it. He's going to be angry for a while." Jet tried to explain as though Spike weren't still in the room. He made sure to reply, this time with startling resonance, "It's my own fucking fault. I should have figured that parts of her were probably still frozen."

He lay on the couch long after Jet and Faye had said their good-byes and some time after Jet had finished glaring at him during the evening news he'd switched on after his call. He'd actually managed to fall asleep for an hour or two. A dreamless and somehow physically draining sleep, but still managing to serve its purpose. He'd stopped thinking about her for a moment. The pain in his chest seemed to ebb even if only a little bit.

He'd have to leave. Tonight. He'd take the bit of cash from Jet had allotted to him for food and go. Maybe track down the Swordfish and go somewhere new. Callisto. He hadn't had the time to do any sight-seeing but still remembered it to be fairly devoid of women. Quite a few bars. Lots of odd jobs and small-time crime. It'd sort of be like going back in time. Like being eighteen again.

Spike rubbed his eyes and turned onto his back, grunting from the sharp pain that ran down his spine, probably from lying in the same position for so long. He swung his legs out, his boots thumping loudly on the floor as he moved to stand.

He smoothed the front of his pants and tugged the slim-fitting t-shirt he wore back down around his waist. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw the lines of someone sitting in the armchair. He blinked and realized it was Faye. Cool, tenebrous eyes watching him beneath long bangs the colour of ink.

She wore his grey sweatshirt over her jeans and he wondered for a split-second if she'd done that on purpose. But how could she know he felt like he could only properly operate from the scent of his and hers combined? He'd never told her.

There was so much fucking stuff he'd never told her.

They seemed to size eachother up for a nearly interminable number of minutes before Faye finally spoke, her voice as detached as her inspection of him.

"I remember a time when you would have been able to say something like that to my face."

* * *

**Lyrics from Leonard Cohen's _Sisters of Mercy_**. 


	54. Happiness Is A Worn Pun

Hopefully I can keep up this rate of updating. Send cookies.

I love you.

ssg.x.

* * *

**Remember when I left you **

**I couldn't say your name **

**Or other crucial things **

**Like I love you **

**Oh that's a shame **

**Oh no, I think I'm falling**

**Oh no, I think I'm fine **

**Our hearts didn't come together **

**But I saw the two collide **

* * *

Spike wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he'd played out this moment in his head over and over.

Faye would come back. And he'd do what?

He managed to surprise even himself this time.

"Calhoun toss you out on your ass?"

"Funny." Faye replied evenly. "That's why I came back, you know. 'Cause you're just so goddamn funny."

Spike wasn't expecting that. He reeled inside although the expression on his face remained steadily uncaring. It was as though he'd gotten his wish suddenly and that things were back to the way they'd always been. His snide remarks, her quick and sarcastic replies...

It was like someone had just kicked him in the stomach.

"So why're you here, then?"

Faye's eyes dropped to her knees suddenly. Her hands held her elbows limply. Spike understood then that she hadn't come here because she was angry. She'd come here because she felt guilty. And that just made him sick. "I don't know why you're so angry. I thought you understood. And..."

Spike frowned and slumped back down on the couch, leaning back heavily. "And what? You thought we could be friends?"

"Is that such a out-there assumption?" She said weakly. The earlier ice-fire in her eyes stilled. She didn't look at him. Her shoulders drew forward and upwards as though she were protecting herself from him. Probably from his words.

He still didn't like that she could be so afraid of him. Even now. And his reaction to that utter lack of trust only served to confirm her fears when he tensed and responded by striking out with is leg and kicking the coffee table over. He launched himself forward, standing again before falling on his knees in front of her as she shook and pressed herself back into the armchair.

"It's a fucking ridiculous one! What the fuck is wrong with you? Wasn't I hurt enough for you? Did you really feel the need to come back here and fuck with my head again? You couldn't even give me a fucking _day_ you selfish, cold-hearted _bitch_!"

He was shouting and spitting and Faye looked like she was going to fall to pieces but instead a small and sharp fist came out, clipping his cheekbone and catching his eye left eye along with it. He caught himself with a hand on the ground and stared at the floor, ashamed at being caught off guard and unable to believe what had just happened.

"I know you're upset but that was unnecessary, _Samuel_." She ground out. Her eyes narrowed and she stood from the armchair, hopping over one of Spike's legs on her way to the steps that would take her out of his life again. Except this time she'd hate him.

Having nothing left to lose, Spike got to his feet and moved quickly to block her exit. She was momentarily taken aback but she recovered quickly. A familiar mask slipped back into place. Spike could almost hear it click. He needed this and he wasn't about to let it slip from his grasp.

"Move." She demanded.

Spike straightened to his full height and grinned sourly. "What do you think is gonna happen once you leave here? You think that you're gonna find this Ezekiel and live happily ever after? Lemme tell you something I learned from experience. Waiting for a certain sort of happiness is like a fucking lottery draw. One winner in a million. If even ever that."

"Not all of us are losers, _Samuel_." She said, making certain to put an oppressive emphasis on his birth name for the second time. And the trick worked. He felt his throat tighten, remembering having her head on his lap and that her hair was soft and shimmering across his knee.

"Do you think you guys are gonna pick up where you left off? If he's even alive he'll probably be two thousand years old. He might not even remember who the fuck you are! He could be married with five kids and fifteen grandkids. He could have fallen in love with some other _girl_, Faye. Are you factoring all this into your decision at all? For the past fifty fucking years he's probably been kissing the same girl goodnight and she isn't _you_. You're a girl who probably appeared in his dreams, slowly going from main attraction to a fucking cameo. A girl in a painting on the wall of his bedroom where he's been fucking his wife for half a century!"

Faye's eyes dribbled angry tears that ripped into him while he ripped into her. And he wanted to stop the tidal wave of excrutiating pain he was clearly slamming her into the ground with but he found it was beyond his control. Everything that had happened to him these past few months finally launched from deep behind his ribs with such force he could no longer hold it back. He just wasn't strong enough.

Faye's eyes never left his during his tirade. She glared at him, her chin wobbled, and her shoulders shook. She wasn't breathing and her cheeks reddened over the otherwise death-like palour of her face.

"Spike. You..."

Suddenly, she bolted past him, but not before he saw her break. He smoothly caught her elbow with a bone-powdering grip. Electricity crackled up his arm and straight into his chest. She pulled violently in the direction of the steps but he was holding her too tightly.

"Fuck!" She screamed. She stomped and kicked her feet. She threw fists that connected with little more than air.

"Tell me why you came back here." He breathed heavily against her ear, pinning her head back against his chest with one hand. Faye's silence was obstinate. Spike pressed further, he lips grazing the flesh of her neck, his eyelashes danced along her hairline when he used his fingers to brush her hair back over her ear. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the acute discomfort in his shoulder where her head banged ruthlessly against the shadow of a knife wound. He licked his lips and tried to keep from placing a kiss against her jaw.

"I didn't like how you left." She finally gasped.

"You left me first." He remarked bitterly.

His hands carefully relaxed and Faye, feeling his arms slacken around her, leapt to release herself from him. She felt and heard a crack as the crown of her head inadvertently delivered a sharp blow to Spike's nose. Spike pulled back, turning his head to the side and covering his face with a large, trembling hand.

Faye whirled around to face him, panting, fascinated and sickened simultaneously as his eyes darkened and veins within swelled. A thread of blood escaped his nostrils, through his fingers, travelling slowly and thickly down his chin.

With the shock passing and a moment or two to stop the bleeding, Spike removed his hand and looked back at Faye through red eyes and purple skin. He ran his open palm along the bottom half of his face, smearing more blood than wiping away.

"Jesus Christ, Spike...I'm sorry. Holy shit, I'm so sorry..." Faye whispered. She brought both her hands out to him before even okaying the motion with her head. Spike recoiled, breathing heavily. Faye secured one of his wrists before he could pull completely away from her.

"I know I've taken so much from you already. But please...please give me this. Please let me take care of you. Just this once. Then I'll go." She breathed as she reached out her other hand to pull his head closer to hers. "You always fought it. You always pushed me away. And I just wanted you to be alright. I only ever want you to be alright...Spike..."

Spike didn't move and Faye slowly brought her hand to her lips, her tongue gently leaving her to wet her thumb. She tenderly stroked away the blood from his chin. His breathing tempered and deepened as he focused on her mouth and how close it was to his own.

When he finally risked looking back into her eyes, he felt his hips pull foward as though they were a separate entity from the rest of his body when he realized that her eyes were fixated on her thumb and the moist trail left behind it. Her shoes shuffled gingerly against the floor as she moved closer to him, her hips meeting his.

"Spike...?"

He only responded with a creaking of his vocal chords, barely even that.

"How...hard..." She reached up behind his ear and gently pulled at several curls of his hair. Her breath mingled with his and his body reacted to the aphrodisiacal properties created by the two conjoining in this manner in the most deliciously agonizing way. Her other hand left his lips, trailing down his side to rest against his hip. They started to move against eachother so slowly neither of them noticed for a moment or two.

"How hard..."

"Stop saying that." He whispered, smirking shyly. Faye's lips touched his as a phantom's would and he quivered against the hand on his pelvis.

"How hard would it be to let me go again?" She asked.

It could very well kill him all over again and he wasn't sure how many lives he had left. But his hands went to her hair, driving into it until his fingers were hopelessly tangled there, and his mouth claimed hers with the entire spectrum of emotions she'd aroused in him these past few days, this past year, and those he'd feel tomorrow when she left him once again.

And she kissed him back with all the power of goodbye.

* * *

**Lyrics from The Organ's _Sinking Hearts_. Summary to come, kiddies. Website, too (finally).**


	55. Baby Love Child

So.

On the advice of one of my favourite people ;) I've done some editing to this chapter. And there's probably more to come. I've also been working on the summary and timeline which, as you can imagine, is taking me a fucking long time to do...hopefully it'll all be worth it, though...Last thing I want to do is fuck things up even further!.

On that note...I'm sorry the story's been so confusing. I don't do it because I think I'm 'clever', though. That I can guarantee. I think many things of myself but clever is not one of them. :D

If I'm confusing you that doesn't make me terribly clever at all...

Am I scaring you guys away? I hope not. I hope you'll keep reading.

I love you.

:)  
ssg.x.

* * *

**I wanna talk tonight  
Until the mornin' light  
'Bout how you saved my life**

* * *

"You were really, really amazing," Faye found herself saying for what was probably the fiftieth time that evening. She looked across at Ezekiel and squeezed his hand. He pulled gently at her fingers to bring her closer to him along the length of his arm. She tucked herself tightly against his chest as they continued to walk. He still marvelled at how well they fit together. After three years it was almost as though their continued physical development was thrown off track by their meeting. They grew like vines; intertwining, twisting. All the while they moved along the surface of the planet together, sharing the light and the earth. Whatever it would offer them.

"We weren't that great. Something was going on with the sound. I couldn't hear anything up there. It was too fuzzy," he quickly felt compelled to explain. Faye stopped and reached up to press a finger to his lips.

"_It was amazing_," she said firmly.

"Okay, okay. Sorry," he replied sheepishly. Some things would never change. He still wondered how he'd managed to keep her for all this time. Despite his continued rebelliousness towards his parents' overtly heavy-handed Christian beliefs through almost daily declarations of being an atheist, he believed that something else was at work here. He believed in souls. He believed now that he had one and he only became acutely aware of its presence when Faye pulled on the string tied tightly around it.

He looked down at her freshly violet hair, the light from the lamp posts above as they moved together made it almost appear as though she had a halo. He whispered Faye's name to himself because it was always on his lips -- the sound and feel of it pleasant enough that he could fall asleep to it.

She had dyed her hair yesterday afternoon especially for this evening to celebrate both her birthday and Ezekiel's first paying gig. Faye had explained with a sort of breathless excitement on his arrival to escort her to the club that her mother had very nearly fainted when she emerged from her bathroom with her new hair colour and several very spotty towels. Her mother had glared at Ezekiel accusingly as they rushed out the door, guessing the makeover was the result of his influence on Faye, and he had offered apologetically, "It could have been a tattoo." But the look on Mrs. Spector's face suggested this offered little solace.

Inexplicably, he suddenly felt a strain of fear so cold deep inside of him that it could have challenged the brisk night air. A voice inside of him whispered its warning that he not look away for fear she may vanish. He had learned to shrug off such feelings early on in their relationship, to curb his habit of self-deprecation, but something about this night was different. He couldn't shake the feeling. He shivered inside and out in his denim jacket, his hair and skin still wet from sweat even after a quick t-shirt change after the show. He pulled Faye's slight body to him even tighter for warmth and both her hands crept around his waist beneath the hem of his jacket.

"How come you didn't want to go home and change? I could have gotten a ride home with someone," she said.

"I know you could've gotten a ride home with someone. That was the problem. Too many people there always want to give you a ride home."

They'd been walking down the middle of the street when he heard a car creeping up behind them. He took her hand and pulled her towards the curb and out of harm's way, then kept on pulling until he got her into the darkness between two houses.

His mouth caught hold of hers firmly. One of her hands grabbed the collar of his jacket, forcing his head down and deeper into their kisses, her teeth biting into his lips, his tongue sweeping roughly across hers.

"You need a car. One of these days we're going to get caught," she murmured.

"Your parents are going to murder you anyways, aren't they? We're already late. Your dad told me he wanted you home early tonight."

"They'll understand. It's my birthday."

"Not for another..." Ezekiel pulled away to look at his watch. It was ten minutes past one. Faye grinned at him as she slowly inched his shirt up under his arms. He chuckled and gasped at the same time. "Happy birthday," he said before bringing his mouth back down to hers.

Their kisses tempered to something somewhat less bruising when a light came on in a room above their heads, startling them for a moment.

Faye buried herself deep into curve of his torso. "Ugh," she groaned sulkily. Her thumb stroked the skin beneath his shirt and jacket and Ezekiel tried to keep from pulling her skirt up around her waist. "It's not fair. I don't get to see you on my birthday."

"I thought it _was_ your birthday"

"Shut up. You know what I mean."

"Listen, you can see me anytime you want. You're gonna get to see the fucking _universe_ tomorrow. You're gonna get to see Earth the way only a few people ever will."

Faye leaned her head against his shoulder, lacing her fingers together behind his back. "I know. But all I really want is to spend it with you. I would have been perfectly happy with just a quiet dinner with my family and you. I'm not even going to get to see Will tomorrow. I was hoping he'd be able to get some sort of permission to leave his station and come and see me."

"Your father probably went through a load of trouble to get you this ticket. I can only imagine how much it must have cost your parents."

"I know. And that's the only real reason I'm going. I don't want to disappoint him. He's so excited. You should have seen his face when he was explaining the details to me. And all I could think was 'this is going to be scary. Please don't make me go.'"

"Once you're up there you'll feel so much better. You'll be so glad you got to go. And you'll be seeing me -- just from millions of miles away." Ezekiel kissed the top of her head. His lips lingered for a moment or two, remembering why he'd brought her here. Besides the obvious.

"I want to marry you."

Faye's eyes squinted. She shook her head as though she hadn't heard him properly.

"What?"

Ezekiel grinned, successfully managing to hide his dismay at her unexpected response. "Well. Not _now_. Well -- I mean, yeah, I want to marry you right now but I'm...What I'm saying is that I hope we can get married one day. Like...some day. But I'm telling you now because I love you and I'm going to be going away for a little while, and I --"

Faye stopped his rambling by grabbing the front of his jacket up in two fists. "Wait, wait...What do you mean you're going away?"

Ezekiel sighed and dropped his hands at his sides. "I've got good news. The label that put out that compilation we appeared on...they're doing a tour. And we're invited to go. Another band pulled out and it's really last minute and all but it's a great opportunity."

Faye's face fell. She whispered lamely, "That's wonderful." She looked back up at him and smiled bravely, "So it's just for a few days, right? Like, a tour of Singapore, right?"

Ezekiel shook his head. "No. Well...I mean I'm sure we'll do one here eventually, but Singapore's sort of been done. There're only so many places we can play so many times. We're going to America." He pressed on despite the sick look on Faye's face, "That's good, right? I mean so many people are going to be able to see us. And it's all going to be paid for."

"How long are you going to be gone?" If it wasn't so dark, Ezekiel would have been able to see how dull her eyes had become. He reached up and softly rubbed her shoulders between his chilled hands.

"Five or six months. We're leaving Monday. We'll have the weekend together."

"Ezekiel..." Faye's voice cracked.

"Come on. Don't cry." He leaned his forehead against hers and sighed. This close to her he could promise her he wouldn't go. And the screaming still inside him might lessen as well.

He'd be travelling halfway around the globe and the whole time he'd be wondering if the string tied around their hearts would be long enough to accommodate their movements or if it would be pulled too tightly and snap because of it. On the other hand, if he didn't take advantage of this opportunity, the already not terribly sturdy idea that they could have a successful future together might fall completely to pieces if he couldn't find out what it was he was supposed to be doing with his life.

Faye sniffled into the sleeve of her jacket, "I'm sorry. I'm being awful, aren't I? This is a great day for you and I'm ruining it."

"What are you talking about? It's _your_ day. _I'm_ the one ruining it," he said sadly.

They stood quietly, four feet in their fear, eyes on each other and secretly memorizing details of the other they wouldn't remember until this moment, and the ground it stood on, had long fallen to dust. One day Ezekiel would remember that she had smelled like oranges and cigarettes that night. And Faye would remember long after that Ezekiel's habit of biting his lower lip and unconsciously running his left hand over his hip pocket in search of cigarettes that were never there when he worried, the lingering after-effects of having given up smoking cold turkey.

* * *

**I go crazy  
When I'm without you.**

* * *

Faye had watched him on stage tonight -- tall and lanky, strong. The muscles lining his arms, drawn taut with energy and the jerky movements of his hands as he played. He wore a simple black t-shirt and jeans, but in her eyes he glimmered like a jewel. Occasionally he'd lean into his mic to spew a word or two of backup lyrics and, even though she couldn't hear him properly over all the other sounds bouncing off the ceiling and walls of the club, the simple movement - his unruly hair spilling into his eyes, his long, white neck emerging from his almost permanently shrugged shoulders - still sent her heart leaping crazily to her throat.

Here, within his element, she could only wonder how he could love her. He was so beautiful and so perfect.

_And he loves me._

She wished their parents could see this. She wished all those teachers who used to watch them with such disdain as they'd walked hand-in-hand through the corridors of her old high school could see this. Those who believed his novelty would wear off on her someday soon and she'd end up married to a doctor with Nobel Prize-winning children...

He had magic. And they'd see it. And then they'd all understand.

_I'm the lucky one. He loves me._

Whatever agony she had felt during their separation almost three years ago would be multiplied tenfold if they were ever apart again.

_I won't let it happen again._

Her mind began to work at an alarming rate and Faye looked up at him, eyes wide and brimming, and hopeful suddenly. "Would they let me go with you? The label people, I mean. I'd pay my own way. I have money saved up."

Ezekiel frowned, "I...I don't see why they wouldn't. But you have school, Faye. And your parents wouldn't let you go. They'd have me strung up in a meat locker before letting me take you to America."

"But the label -- they'd let me?"

"Faye --"

Faye threw herself into his arms and laughed, "I'm going with you!"

"Faye --" Ezekiel began again, desperately losing a battle he wasn't sure he had real reason to be fighting.

"Ezekiel, we've been together for three years. There hasn't been a day we haven't spoken, seen or touched each other, and I'm not going to break that routine. And if I have to put off school for another semester and spend my savings to eat soggy fast food on a noisy old van with your loud and dirty rocker friends for six months just to see your face every day, I consider it a bargain."

"Faye--"

She pointed a finger at him menacingly, "Don't you dare try to talk me out of it, either. If the next words out of your mouth have anything to do with 'can't' or 'won't' or 'this is for your own good' I'm never speaking to you again."

Ezekiel was silent for a moment. Surely he should be arguing with her, trying to reason with her that not going would be best for her. But with sudden clarity he realized that that would be a lie. With sudden clarity he realized that perhaps _he _could be what was best for her.

Perhaps he'd always been what was best for her.

Jesus, he was slow.

"Oh. Okay, that's logical," he replied with slow sarcasm. Nonchalantly he added, "Fine. I can't stop you."

Faye smiled, standing on the very tips of her toes to kiss the end of his nose. "You'd want to?"

Ezekiel confidently lowered his head to her neck. He kissed her softly beneath her ear and trailed his hot breath along the line of her collarbone and when she shivered beneath him it only confirmed this new discovery of his. In that moment a strange sort of happiness and relief washed over him.

She wanted _him_. She would always only ever want him.

"Not for the universe," he said.

Their lips brushed as he spoke and she breathed. He could have everything he wanted. He could have everything he ever wanted because it was what she wanted, too. He wasn't able to ask her today, like he'd hoped he would, but one day they'd get married. She'd be a teacher and he'd be a rockstar and they'd wake up and fall asleep in the same place every morning, every night, in the other's eyes.

Faye closed any space between them and raised one of her knees heavily and deliberately between his thighs. One of his hands dropped to grab up the folds of her skirt at her hips. "What were we talking about before all that America nonsense?" she asked coyly.

"Um...I can't remember," he stammered.

"Neither can I. Oh, wait. It was something about wanting to see you on my birthday." Her eyes gleamed mischievously as her hands toyed with the buckle of his belt.

"I remember now," Ezekiel whispered nervously.

"I think I'm ready to see you."

They had about ten more minutes together before a cop car showed up answering a call about strange sounds coming from the side of the house.

* * *

**Lyrics taken from Oasis' _Talk Tonight _and Flesh For Lulu's _I Go Crazy._**


	56. The thief of your heart

So.

I started writing the next chapter about two months ago. Right after I posted the last chapter. It was a really long chapter and this interlude was part of it. Unfortunately, mid-chapter the giant side of a big block of writer's fell on me and crushed me so it's going to have to wait for a few days. There's a little movie, a little Ana, a little Jet, a little Ed. Oooh…is that what we might call an _ensemble piece_? Hrm…

However, since it's been so long since I've posted anything, I'm posting this bit as an interlude in the hopes that you won't forget about lil' ol' me.

You know. Because I love you.

ssg.x.

* * *

**Nobody searches  
Nobody cares somehow  
When the loving that you've wasted  
Comes raining from a hapless cloud  
And I might stop and look upon your face  
Disappear in the sweet, sweet gaze  
See the living that surrounds me  
Dissipate in a violet place**

* * *

Faye couldn't help but notice that aside from the Bruce Lee poster with the long tear in it hastily taped to the door Spike's room pretty much had all the comfort and personality of a broom closet.

She thought that perhaps during the train wreck that was their first time together she may have just failed to notice or absorb any other details of his room. But there was only the poster, no working light and a door that didn't slide closed all the way. She used to wander past his room on her way to her own and muse over how a person who seemed so vehemently bent on keeping aspects of his life outside of the ship private couldn't be bothered to have a working door.

Not that it would have made a difference. One of the things Faye had done after settling in was figure out how to open anything that could lock whether it be through the use of codes silently memorized over the shoulders of her crewmates or manually (she'd almost severed her hand once trying to get into the safe with tools stolen from Jet's workbench). It was her only hope for survival on this ship. Jet and Spike locked up just about everything. Food, money, even personal hygiene products like soap and toothpaste. Jet kept aftershave and cologne locked up in a small cashbox taped securely to the underside of his desk. He kept the key inside one of his old workboots not five feet away.

Men were so dumb. They go to all the trouble of locking stuff up then they "hide" the key in a shoe or their underwear drawer.

Yep. Men were dumb. And predictable.

Spike was not most men, though. She'd known that for some time now.

Her heart was pummelling against the insides of a shell ready to break at any given moment so she tried to distract herself from the ache by thinking about stupid things like what Spike's shoe size might have been as her eyes focused on a pair of black sneakers she didn't remember ever seeing him wearing sitting by the door. She wondered how often he trimmed his fingernails. Maybe he bit them. She contemplated if he went to a barber or if he trimmed the haphazard mass of curls atop his crazy head himself.

She felt as though her spirit were beginning to split in two when Spike and Ezekiel fused at certain points of similarity and it took almost all her power to keep from taking another ill-prepared voyage to Dementia.

He wasn't going to be able to let her go.

When he pinned her hands above her head against the mattress with one of his own she could feel the strength thicken through every one of his fingers like the juices in his mouth or the tears in her eyes. There was a quiet desperation in his hold on her she could barely stand. She hoped that she could reign in her emotions – perhaps he'd sense an emotional detachment and have some sort of mercy on her - but the ragged breaths between the fervent meeting of their lips again and again only served to reveal what she hoped beyond hope the kisses themselves would not.

He halted all movement, poised above her with those eyes of his, dark and swollen and no longer of two different colours, now seeing his future – or what he believed was his future – before him through both pupils, and Faye's breath caught in her throat when only a moment ago it ravaged her insides like a storm.

She twisted beneath him in an effort to free her hands either to push him away or stroke his hair or pull him ever-nearer – she wasn't sure which one. But he held fast to her entwined wrists while his other hand delicately traced the lines of her naked torso.

When his voice appeared to finally find him since their last words to eachother in the main room it was hoarse and shimmering with restrained agony.

She tried to stop him even as she saw the words forming in his mouth but they came too fast.

"Tell me you love me."

"Spike…Don't…" She begged. He ran a coarse and unforgiving hand over one of her breasts. She sucked her breath in even further, finally releasing it in the form of the softest groan. Her spine bent almost impossibly, her legs tightened around his hips and Spike forgot himself. He gasped and his hand reappeared for him to balance on as he pulled himself up and away from her face.

"Just say it."

"I'd be lying. It would be a lie." She hadn't wanted to tell him the truth before. She'd just preferred to let him walk out of Roscoe's building, out of her life, not knowing. Leaving him with something maybe. At least he might have his own conclusion to all this.

But now she had to say it out loud.

She couldn't tell him she loved him now. She just couldn't tell the difference between him and Ezekiel Inside Of Him. And it hurt like fucking hell but it wasn't fair to Spike.

Spike's eyes closed and she saw his adam's apple jump. "I was happy with the lie the first time you told it. Tell it to me again."

They'd die here tonight in eachother's arms. She was sure of it.

"I love you." First in the hopes he'd take those burning eyes from hers. Then to make up for a lifetime they may have had together. Lips pressed to his ear, feeling the moist and matted curls that tickled her eyelashes, she whispered again and again, _I love you_, never sure if it was because she meant the words or because lies just came easier for every time they were spoken.

* * *

**Lyrics from Interpol's Slow Hands, don't sue. Broke. Unemployed. Send money. Thanks.**

* * *


	57. Love Will Destroy Us In The End

So.

It seems I've developed a rash of impatience these past couple of days (along with all sorts of other rashes. Stupid flu) and decided to take apart the loooong chapter I mentioned last time and serve it up to you in a few segments. This is probably going to make a lot of you upset with me, but I promise I'll be quick with the deliveries. I just think I'll get over my writer's block quicker if I don't pressure myself trying to write a long chapter. You know me…I'm just not used to it.

I'm such a suckyhead. I'm sorry.

Forgive?

I love you.

ssg.x.

* * *

**It's the love  
And the truth  
And the hope  
And the faith  
That will destroy us in the end.**

* * *

Jet watched Ana sip at her orange soda while he piled pickled onions and peppers onto his hotdog from the sloppy assortment of condiments made available by the hotdog cart they'd finally settled on for dinner. Ideal for Jet who had just enough money for the two of them to eat.

They'd started out walking and chatting and reading the menus posted in the windows of various diners, noodle bowls and pubs that lined the streets by the dock but ended up deciding to continue their evening outside figuring there were only going to be a few evenings out by the water left. Jet grabbed his drink and sat by Ana who had propped herself comfortably onto the back of a nearby bench. He looked up at her and smiled awkwardly when he felt her eyes on him. She looked away quickly and chuckled, probably embarrassed at being caught. Jet set his drink down and scratched at his mechanical elbow, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

It was a relatively busy tourist hangout and Jet had wished he was dressed a little more appropriately, sticking out more than usual as he and Ana made their way across the boardwalk through throngs of sparkling nightclubbers and well-dressed retirees. He figured since his having dinner with Ana was an impromptu, last-minute thing she might forgive him for still being in his clunky gear. After several days. It was definitely no way to make an impression on a first date.

Date.

Yeah, that's right. They were on a date.

Okay. People these days don't 'date'. Probably haven't been doing it since the twentieth century. People nowadays were just sort of thrown together. Everything sort of happened backwards. The getting to know you thing seemed to come after the _really getting to know you_ stuff. Jet had wondered what sort of girl Ana was.

He decided once he'd seen her in her pretty purple skirt that she was the dating kind. And that pleased him to no end.

He half-hoped they wouldn't have to start talking about the movie. Even with the two of them silenced now by the chore of eating and drinking they seemed to have settled into something almost comfortable. For an hour he wasn't thinking about Spike or Faye. He'd invested far too much of himself in those two, distracting from the fact that his own private life had been violated by this movie, too.

Sure, Faye and Spike's pasts were probably a lot sketchier than his, but that wasn't really the point. He had a right to present a life of intrigue and mystery to the general public, too, didn't he?

"What are you thinking about"

Right. He was doing it again. Ana dusted the crumbs from her lap and hands. She brought the straw of her drink to her lips, leaning back to look Jet in the eye quizzically.

"The movie." Jet grudgingly admitted. Ana dropped down into the spot on the bench next to Jet. Jet sighed to himself. He really just had dumb fucking luck with women.

"I did some digging around." Ana pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, suddenly seeming to sober, all business now. Jet reluctantly encouraged her to continue"What'd you find out"

"Well, not a helluva lot. But rumour has it that Akaido is going to be making an appearance at the big wrap-up dinner. The only thing is, no one's really ever seen him, so no one's going to know for certain if he's actually there or not. There's so many crew members and production team people coming out that it's going to be nearly impossible to pick him out from any other yahoo in attendance."

"Well, I mean picking him out isn't beyond our skills. I think if we can somehow get in we can do some mingling and see what we come up with. There won't be a problem getting in, will there? I mean we were able to easily get on the set..."

"Security is going to be pretty tight as it is. Events like this usually are. And now that I'm sure he's discovered the Valentine doppelganger is back behind bars, I'm sure Akaido's people have been put on high alert. I'm not sure how you guys usually work at stuff like this, but I'd imagine it's going to be a chore no matter what. For one thing, you're going to need invitations."

"Invitations can easily be forged."

"Proper attire"

Jet didn't want to outright tell her they'd steal that stuff if they had to so he said simply"We have deep closets for undercover jobs."

Yeah. Deep. Like, stretching across the city.

"It'll help that you know a couple of people. Or at least pretend like you do. Roscoe will be there, I'm sure." Ana said. She was toying with the sleeves of her shirt, stretching them over her knuckles. Jet stared straight ahead, watching the fast-fading light drifting farther and farther away from them across the water.

"Maybe Appledehli will be there. That assistant of his..." Jet muttered absently. Then suddenly, louder"You. Are you going to be there"

"Uh...I don't know. I don't do well in social settings."

Jet turned on the bench towards her"It'd be a really big favour to me if you went. You know a lot of these people. I mean I know I said before I didn't want you to get involved but..."

"Um. I guess I can go. I'll have to find something to wear but..."

Jet could see the small frown above the lowered chin she tried to hide behind her hand as she pushed yet again at her glasses. He thought about how pretty she looked standing out on the dock with her skirt and her hair combed back from her face. How beautiful she looked sleeping against his shoulder in the coffee shop and how round and soft her eyes and lips looked as she slept.

You shouldn't get yourself into shit like this, man. She could be working right now. She could be a plant. Or she's not and you're getting her involved in something unsavoury.

Shut up shut up shut up shut -

"Ana...I mean this could be something or this could be nothing. But..."

It was hard to talk to her with all that dark hair hanging in her face, he thought suddenly. He reached a hand out - he didn't notice which one this time - and swept it from her eyes, gingerly pulling it back with thumb and forefinger over her ear. He fumbled to tuck the strands of hair away and drew her eyes back to his along the cheekbone he brushed as he brought his hand back to his side.

"...But I was just thinking I'd want you to be there with me either way."

Ana's eyes were large and dark and she seemed to be rattling in her sweater. Jet moved his drink to his other side, using his free arm to pull himself along the bench and closer to her, mistaking her shivering to mean she was cold.

Her eyes narrowed and he could see the beginnings of a wonderful - sexy, even - smile beneath those abominable glasses of hers. Abominable only because they seemed to keep him from seeing exactly what might be going on in her head right now. He could taste her breath in his mouth this close to her.

"Jet."

Jet pulled back a bit, eyebrows raised, trying to look natural. Trying not to look like a guy who'd failed miserably at making a pass at a girl who by rights shouldn't even want anything to do with him. Maybe he frightened her with his earnest request that she join him. He didn't think he was being too forward. He thought he'd been taking things nice and slow until now. But sometimes his damned eyes spoke his secrets. He'd noticed a lot of older people had that quality to their eyes. But Jet wasn't old. Thirty-seven wasn't old.

Maybe once she was up close she could see just how weathered and scarred he really was for his age.

Or maybe he shouldn't have put those pickled onions on his hotdog.

He turned his head towards his shoulder, about to do a breath check as subtly as a task such as that could be accomplished. Ana almost seemed to jump.

"Wait –"

Jet looked quickly back at her.

"I…I sort of fucked that up. I was going to say something." Ana rolled her eyes and laughed nervously "Shit. I'm sorry. I'm making myself look worse and worse every second. I'm sorry I swear so fucking much. Crap. Okay. I'm going to stop talking now."

Jet listened to the crazy spasm of words leaving her lips and it only made him want to kiss her even more than a few moments before. He hadn't made a girl nervous in a long, long time. Without a gun, anyways.

He waited patiently and then asked, "What were you going to say?"

Ana rested a hand gently on his knee and tried to regain some of the proximity from earlier. Her mouth came very close to his and she sighed a light and airy sigh that trailed off into a tremor he could feel in her fingertips.

"Kiss me first. Can you do th—"

Halfway through her words his lips pressed gingerly to hers. His hands came up to hold her shoulders, gently squeezing them together to bring her closer and deeper into their union. She kissed him back eagerly and held him around his waist, her arms barely able to get around to his back.

"I like you." She said breathlessly.

"Is that what you were going to say?"

"Yes."

Jet let his fingers toy with the ends of her hair. It felt really nice. Like, the hair and her lips and sitting together and talking and he hadn't realized how much he missed it.

Okay, he knew he'd been missing it all along but the pain of losing it wasn't worth the risk.

That's what he'd thought originally.

People came into his life and all the caring, the longest fingers of this caring, reaching out and grasping desperately to hold onto these people and keep them close made shit difference.

What goes up must come down. People come, people go. That was life.

But this was worth it. She had really deep, brown eyes. She was funny and smart and had these lovely hands and seemed made entirely of curves captured in a net of the softest skin. As long as it was like this, it would always be worth it.

And if people would always leave as fast as they'd arrived, perhaps he should just keep his yap shut and enjoy it for as long as it lasts. That was another way to look at it.

And so Jet just decided to go with this latter bit of advice and shut his yap save speaking these next few words.

"I like you, too."

* * *

**Lyrics taken from Hefner's Love Will Destroy Us In The End…Again – don't sue, please.**


	58. Hand In Hand In A Violent Life

**Okay…I'm back and I'm well (although stating that out loud may have jinxed me).**

**And I'm dying for your reviews. Oh, yes I am.**

**And I love you.**

**Yes, indeed, Case. I. Love. You.**

**Holla!**

**:P**

**ssg.x.**

* * *

**and the world comes tumbling down  
hand in hand in a violent life  
making love on the edge of a knife  
and the world comes tumbling down…**

* * *

"Fuck!"

A harrowed and sickly breath escaped her and as she swept the tears from her cheeks with one hand she willed the other wielding her gun to still. When the shaking stopped she peeled herself from the wall she'd bolstered herself with in lieu of arms that held her long ago.

_Don't…_

Faye took half a step towards Spike's retreating back, felt her knees painfully begin to buckle beneath her. Her head swooped to one side as though she might faint.

_Stay! Or let me come with you! Let me come with you…_

She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing the world around her to stop and bend to her will. If she could threaten it with a gun and scream for it to stop she would. But bullets could move mountains about as well as love could.

_Don't you fucking go and leave us here…_

He was long gone now. And he wouldn't be back. He moved slowly through the corridor with his hands in his pockets, trying to look calm. Like he looked every single time he'd done this before. But all those other times she never saw the muscle in his jaw tense and release like a slow and heavy heartbeat. She never saw his eyes soften on hers the way they had. It was almost like he was sorry he was causing her pain. But not the pain she felt now. A pain he seemed to know and understand would come later.

In these dreams she screamed for him. In these dreams she followed him without ever wondering how.

In these dreams she slayed the dragons of his nightmares. And her reward was that he let her.

When she finally turned away from the corridor that had sucked his life from her like a vortex, she felt his breath and his eyes on her once again.

"Where are you going?"

_I…my memory came back…_

Spike steadied the gun against her temple. His breathing seemed laboured. His eyes focused and unfocused on hers. She knew he wasn't drunk but he sweated and paled as though he were going to be ill.

"_Why_ are you going?" He asked quietly. She could see the strong lines of his jaw steady, his elbows locking determinedly. But she could also see the unexpected child-like quality born in his eyes from the hurt she caused him. He couldn't stop what was happening. But she couldn't either.

"I've been seeing the past in one eye and the present in the other…" She whispered as though reading from a script.

…_I thought I was watching a dream I would never awaken from._

"You told me once that the past didn't matter…" Spike's arms relaxed and the gun fell away from the side of her head. She let out the breath she'd been holding.

"But _you're_ the one who's tied to their past!" Spike moved swiftly towards her when she tried to establish some boundaries around herself. She stumbled as though he'd expelled bullets from the gun she knew he'd never use.

"…There was no place for me to return to. This was the only place I could go back to!" He slumped against the wall of the corridor. The same spot she'd occupied only moments earlier and she wondered if the spot was still warm from her sweat for him, her anger and agony, or if this was another place in space and time entirely. Words she couldn't remember ever hearing in that voice fell from lips she faintly thought she may have kissed once long ago.

But words she remembered were spoken.

She couldn't call to memory what end of the gun she'd been on.

"But now…" So quiet she could barely hear him. She knew the words to this song. She needed only to watch the mouth that sang them now so sadly. "Where are you going? _Why_ do you have to go?"

Then she fucked up. She couldn't follow through with the script any longer and so she strayed from it like a coward. She knew the voice would grow louder. She knew the sound of it would ring in her ears for hours if not forever with eyes strong and severe and desperate. She very nearly forgot her reasons for leaving. She very nearly forgot her reason's name.

"Spike…"

Spike's hair fell into his eyes as he cocked his head to the side. He looked like a boy. So much like another boy she'd known once. She couldn't remember his name. What was happening to her? A strength she'd thought she'd lost…she felt it in her bones. A sound in her throat she thought she'd never have back…

"Ezekiel…" She whispered, looking into the eyes of a man who was not him. She stood her full height on a crutch made from memories. Spike watched her through a face that spoke nothing of what he was feeling inside. It was a dream after all. Perhaps he had no thoughts but those she gave him.

"Let me go." She suddenly spoke firmly but gently. Spike stared blankly at her for a moment and he was Spike again. Faye carefully spoke the words again. "Let me go, Spike."

Spike nodded. A resigned, almost peaceful look came over his face. She'd forgotten this Spike. The one who looked in control of himself and relaxed in his settings even though they were clearly sometimes the wrong ones. She'd nearly smiled at him. For once she was doing what she wanted and it wasn't going to fuck with the cosmos.

Spike chuckled to himself.

"No." He said.

Her fatal error was a simple one.

She forgot about the gun. She'd taken her eyes off the gun.

As Spike pulled away from the wall, the gun cutting through the air along the arc of his arm, Faye thought about how brave he was. How she'd always admired him for his calm demeanour despite the chaos and destruction that always seemed to shadow him. How he had always been brave enough to take up the slack of jobs she would never be able to touch.

She thought about how she'd fired that gun, all her rounds, and still couldn't do what she'd set out to do. If she had to.

But Spike always knew what to do. He always knew how to get what he wanted.

She heard the gunshots and saw the blood but couldn't feel a thing.

It was a dream after all.

* * *

**I've been as honest with you  
****As I've been true to myself  
Counting my fingers  
****One of every kind  
I'm taking inventory  
****Making sure what's mine  
****And when I look for someone to count on  
****I take my time.**

* * *

Jet tried to remember if he'd been a bad man. He hadn't thought so but in recent years he'd found himself starting to believe that perhaps he was being punished by God. He had been a good kid. He'd been sort of harangued into it by the death of his mother. No one ever told him how she'd passed. And he'd never bothered to ask. What good could come from knowing? He had never dwelled on it because he'd been young when it happened. She was there one day and gone the next. But his father…he remembered the change in his father.

_There's nothing I can do for a dead woman._

But his father was still with him.

As Jet grew older he noticed the pain in his father's eyes never ebbed. In his eyes he'd remained inconsolable until the day he'd died, despite the outward appearances of being an outgoing and amiable man. Tall and strong as Jet would one day become and caring for him more than some two parents together could.

So Jet decided at a very young age that being a good boy would be his father's comfort.

_You've killed men. _

Bad_ men._

Doesn't that make a difference in the eyes of God? Wasn't he only acting as an instrument of God?

_For money._

_Okay. Well, fine. If you want to get picky._

So maybe he'd finally been forgiven. Because now he'd been given this new chance.

This girl named Ana.

Their kisses had seemingly gone on forever. And he liked this feeling of not having to go anywhere, think of anything. This feeling of time never having existed.

He was happy that he hadn't forgotten how to kiss a woman, too. Because he liked kissing Ana. He realized that his decision a few years back to boycott all women had been a pretty fucking stupid one.

When the kisses finally softened and diffused, turning back into breaths shared between them, he remembered how much he liked the sound of her voice.

"I'm glad. We…I'm glad you decided…" She began stammering nervously again.

"I didn't make a decision. Things…I knew I'd…" He began shakily. It figured. Whatever she had he'd caught now, too.

"…kiss me?"

"Yeah. I'm just…I'm a little slow when it comes to stuff like this."

Ana smiled broadly, leaning in as though she were confiding some big secret. "I think it's called being a gentleman."

Jet returned her dazzling smile, reached a hand across to her and stroked the tip of her chin.

Ana sighed contentedly and sat back against the bench. Her eyes flit back and forth from the purple skies to the fabric she weaved between them from their fingers.

"I thought perhaps you were…If I tell you don't be mad, okay? Because I didn't know."

Jet looked down at the top of her head. She raised her chin and her eyes seemed to struggle to meet his own. She looked ashamed of herself.

"Didn't know…?"

Ana looked away. "I thought maybe you were just using me to get information about the movie. Access to Akaido. Whatever."

Jet pulled her closer. His fingers gave hers a reassuring squeeze. "I was trying to keep things on a level I could control. And…" He shrugged his shoulders resignedly. "I can't do cold. I've tried. Some people are better at it than others. I know people who can turn it on and off like a faucet " _A person, really. One guy who's just really, _really_ good at it. _"I've always marvelled at how they can do it. How they can clearly care about people but just cut them out of their lives like a series of tumours."

Ana watched him ramble, probably not fully understanding what he was going on about.

"There's nothing marvellous about it, really." She said, unfazed by the near-total lack of relevance to the conversation she had begun orginally. "It's no show of strength. It's actually pretty fucking cowardly and selfish when you think about it. Being with a person is much harder than being alone. Being alone means only having to make yourself happy, and being the only sufferer when you're miserable. Where's the strength in that?" She smirked at the fast-coming sliver of nightlight in the sky. "There's no cause in being a martyr to yourself. There's another name for that. I think it's called 'suicide'."

Jet sat silently and watched her trace the shapes of the fingernails of his good arm with the tips of her own.

"People leave." He blurted. He felt himself blushing, feeling stupid and weak and exposed suddenly. Good job.

"If women loved pussies they'd all be lesbians," he remembered an old cop mentor of his saying once.

But Ana brought out this side of him that actually wanted to speak his secrets to her. A side he'd take his good arm off for rather than show Spike or Faye. A side he'd never been able to show Alyssa.

"People _leave_." He said again, as though the emphasis on that one word would explain away everything inside of him. Alisa and Ed and Ein. Spike. And now Faye. But before all of this…

His mother. His mother had left, too in a way, hadn't she?

_Well, I'll be damned._ He thought to himself. He had felt her presence leaving him after all.

It was a fucking textbook case.

"I know." Ana replied sadly.

"But I like you." He said steadily, trying to break the dark spell he was casting on them. He moved to hold her out at arms' length. She laughed and a look of relief fell across her face with a sweep of her hair.

"I feel like such an idiot. I went to see you tonight and I couldn't figure out how to get on the ship. I mean, ships don't have doorbells, right? So I was trying to figure out how to get to see you and I saw that girl leaving the ship and she was so gorgeous and just…like…_gorgeous_, you know? And I thought for sure that _had_ to be your girlfriend. I knew she wasn't Spike's so it was the only logical —"

Jet blinked himself back from the wonderful place Ana had taken him.

"Girl? What girl?"

And so Jet once again found himself running at the Bebop's beck and call. The ship and crew he captained that seemed to captain him more often than not. He briefly hoped that Ana hadn't taken his rushing off personally.

_Ana's a smart girl. She'll understand._

Yeah. That's another reason he liked her so damn much.

* * *

**Love is what we hunger for  
****The appetite is strong  
****Baby, take a little more  
****Baby, come along  
Not forever and a day  
Not for evermore  
Not for always  
Not that way  
Maybe just for sure**

* * *

**Lyrics taken from Blondie's _Maybe For Sure_ and The Jesus and Mary Chain's _April Skies_.**


	59. Quiet, Quiet Heart

Well, hello!

Oh yes, indeedy-do. How are you, my friend?

A couple of blasts from the past in this here chapter. I hope you enjoy it. If it's crummy I have no one to blame but me. That'll learn me for trying to write at four in the morning.

I love you. No, really. I do.

ssg.x.

* * *

_I tried to tell you  
I can only say it when were apart  
About this storm inside of me  
And how I miss your quiet, quiet heart._

* * *

Roscoe wished he'd seen the note on the fridge before his panic attack. 

_Had some errands to run. See you later. Faye._

See you later.

So she was coming back.

She must have been up pretty early as he himself was usually up at the break of day and he noticed on his way to the kitchen that her bedroom door was open. The bed was made and he wondered if she'd even slept there at all last night. He didn't see or hear her leave her room after speaking to her friend, Jet, yesterday, on the comm. but then Roscoe had been pretty caught up in his own thoughts. He still wasn't sure how to handle the whole Ana thing.

He wanted to pretend he was unaware Ana knew anything. But that could backfire royally on him. For all he knew he was being tested. Perhaps his employers were lying in wait right now wondering where his loyalties rested. In fact, Ana even befriending Jet and Spike could be part of the test. She could be working for the same people as him. She could have been sent to keep an eye on him while he kept an eye on Faye.

Jesus.He was acting like a rattled, fucking drug addict. Totally paranoid.

He liked sitting on his balcony to drink his coffee and watch the sky change. An activity he'd been experiencing with Faye in recent days. In her absence this morning he felt quite a change in his level of enjoyment for the daily ritual.

Today he found himself actually flipping through the paper instead. He rarely read the paper although it was delivered to him daily. He never concerned himself with the news, politics, even the entertainment industry. Especially the entertainment industry. It was all always the same. The same sex scandals, the same violence, the same shifty politicians' hands in the wrong pockets. Things would be tossed around a bit. People's names and costumes would change. But in essence it was always the same.

While Roscoe had been with Faye in the hospital he had shuffled through some entertainment rag mag for lack of anything better to pass the time with and came face to face with a photo of himself. It was for a spread entitled _Fab or Flop?_ where the columnist commented on different outfits various celebrities donned in public.

Roscoe's was the first photo to appear under _Flop_. He was on a break and wearing his costume.

Okay, so at least it wasn't_ his_ fashion faux pas. Technically Spike was the "flop". Still, it only served to remind him why he never liked keeping up with that aspect of the industry.

Roscoe was mildly amused this morning to see a photo of himself with Faye as they were entering the lobby of his building after leaving the hospital. He wore a black t-shirt while his jean jacket was wrapped around Faye's shoulders to protect her from the particularly harsh winds that morning. Her head was turned away from the camera, luckily, as he remembered she had the most painful expression on her face right up until they reached the apartment and she disappeared into her room. Her hair looked impossibly resplendent, even printed with dull ink on newsprint, and her neck long and elegant emerging from the dark denim of his jacket collar. Faye was tagged in the accompanying article as 'an unidentified, dark-haired beauty enjoying a morning neighbourhood stroll with the dashing Roscoe Calhoun'. The article was about the current trend in male actors dating brunettes. Total bullshit and a repugnant waste of paper.

Some things hadn't changed in a hundred years and would probably continue long into the future.

* * *

_Dark angels follow me  
Over a godless sea  
Mountains of endless falling,  
For all my days remaining._

_Sometimes I see your face,  
Stars seem to lose their place  
Why must I think of you?  
_

_Why must I?  
Why should I?  
Why should I cry for you?_

* * *

After morning coffee, Roscoe showered and dressed before deciding to have a look at the latest disc he'd received. He hadn't set eyes on it again since he slipped it under his mattress the other day. He settled in front of the large vid-screen mounted on the wall of his bedroom, leaning against the foot of his bed and using the remote to start running the disc. 

It seemed to be a collection of different concert and news footage from early twenty-first century television. The first clip from an awards show went on for fifteen minutes and Roscoe had almost turned off the stupid thing until a performance began finally began. He happened to glance over at the bass player that appeared in the corner of the screen. In contrast to the lead singer who seemed to have springs in his booted feet as he bounded from one side of the stage to the other, the bassist stood rather aloofly off to the side, swaying and hunched over his guitar as he played as though he had headphones on and was listening to an entirely different song than the one being performed.

Roscoe squinted rather pointlessly at the images on screen as though he could improve the already amazing quality of the system it was displayed on.

That hair. And that posture.

When he finally looked up Roscoe felt a shiver run through him like a lightening bolt striking him straight down the middle through his skull. The camera panned across the stage and the musician came dead centre of Roscoe's vid-screen. His eyes raised briefly, a swirl of dusk and darkness, and he seemed to look right through Roscoe.

This must be Ezekiel.

The accidental eye contact with the camera caused Ezekiel to flinch and look away, turning his back entirely on Roscoe and looking back down at his hand again as he played, feigning a sudden interest in his finger work.

_He looks so much like Spike._

The clip was abruptly cut and the next clip from a news program came on next. A group of people shuffling about with microphones and cameras, clamouring outside of an old-fashioned courthouse. As the people began to part one figure emerged more than a small margin taller than the rest. Same dark, unkempt hair. Same hunched shoulders. But this time with hands tucked firmly in his pockets, trying desperately to look cool and uncaring but unable to hide the strain moving stealthily through his leanly muscled arms as though he wanted to sweep everyone aside and just make a run for it.

The news report was a brief one outlining basic details regarding Nadsat bassist Ezekiel Chadwick being fined for assaulting a photographer during a shoot for some menswear magazine. Roscoe only half heard the report, still focusing on how much the guy seemed to look like Spike. It was almost uncanny.

For a moment, Roscoe wondered if Ezekiel _was_ Spike. Or Spike was Ezekiel, rather.

Again, rude editing ended the clip and began another with a jolt of old television static. Roscoe blinked and realized he'd been leaning ridiculously close to the giant screen on his knees painfully. He sat back continued to watch.

Another news report began. This one a news bulletin cutting right into a scene from a soap opera Roscoe recognized as one his mother and aunt used to watch when he was a child. In it an older man, again being swamped by media, was being escorted by three law enforcers. Apparently he'd been trying to flee to Ganymede after being arrested and charged with embezzlement. He'd also tried to smuggle his wife and daughter off the planet.

A photo of his family was flashed briefly on the screen. A slight woman and a teenaged girl, both with dark, bobbed hair. The teenaged girl looked very much like Faye. Roscoe knew this girl was her younger sister, so it only made sense.

He'd known about Beatrice Tay Seung for some time now. He thought about the old woman in the photo he'd been shown and how small and delicate she'd appeared. How much she resembled his own grandmother. The thick, dark hair she'd shared with her sister and mother was white and thin like gossamer now. He couldn't find Faye in her eyes any longer. The piercing jade of them now soft and hazy from age. He was glad she was safe for the moment. Whatever plans his employers had, they only seemed to involve Faye. The idea of hurting Faye still twisted his insides like a sword in his belly, but at least he didn't have to hurt some poor, elderly woman.

The final clip was of the shrouded body of Niall Spector on a gurney being lead away from his home. Not the home of a wealthy professional, but a small, rundown townhouse. The men and women guiding the gurney to the street where the open vehicle awaited it had on the sombre and forced apathy of faces that had seen too much death. But still existing in their eyes and set jaws the characteristics of a sort of sadness and empathy screaming from deep inside. Something an actor like himself could never duplicate but always burned for.

Behind the sounds of cameras loading and whirring, microphones crackling and colliding, was a single sob becoming a wail of almost fantastic sorrow. The sound of a young Beatrice Spector. The cameras never found her, but Roscoe could see the girl in his mind, alone and breaking, as though she appeared on the screen before him. He couldn't help it, but he felt his heart crack and his stomach collapse. He fumbled with the remote to shut everything off then fell forward on his knees once again, this time letting his forehead rest against the plush carpet beneath him, willing himself not to vomit.

Roscoe heard the sound of the front door opening and closing gently and rushed to brush the wetness from his eyes. He stood and walked cautiously out into the hallway and inhaled sharply on nearly colliding with Faye who for a moment he could almost believe was an apparition of Beatrice Spector summoned from the vivid moving picture show in his head.

"You came back," He said, trying to sound matter-of-fact but having it instead come out sounding silly and weak. Stupid. Of course she came back. She said she would. He realized he'd missed her while she was gone. So desperately.

"You're crying." Faye remarked.

"I…I'm not, am I?" His hands burrowing deep inside his pockets. The movement brought a sort of tenderness to Faye's eyes. Affection almost.

She reached a hand out and he nearly pulled away. But her fingers were cool, soothing as they touched his cheek. She held her hand up for him to see, fingertips shining with his tears.

Roscoe didn't say a word but began to sob hard and fast when he found himself suddenly enveloped in a gentle embrace long denied him.

"It's alright. It's going to be alright." She breathed.

* * *

Lyrics taken from Sting's _Why Must I Cry For You?_ and The Go-Between's _Quiet Heart._


	60. Dying All Day In Thousands Of Little Way...

Well!

I have to thank Rashaka for pointing out my grammatical errors. Honestly, if you guys don't do it, no one can. I haven't a clue what I'm doing sometimes. So thank you, my dear and wonderful Rashaka. And Case, too, for confirming that the ending of this chapter did indeed need a bit of the ol' je ne sais quoi with a hatchet and a drill. I hope I managed to fill it out a little more. The ending was indeed weak and I have no one to blame but myself and my lazy ass. I'd been writing all afternoon and I got hungry. My stomach won out so the ending was weak like tea in the microwave. I hope I fixed it up and I'm curious to hear what you all think (if you managed to catch the other version, too). Not a huge change but I added some details that were important enough not to have left out in the first place. So thank you both, Case and Rashaka. And all of you for your reviews. I know I don't single a lot of people out and name names and whatnot, but it's because it would just take so dang long. I'd have something to thank each one of you for. Perhaps one day I'll be able to do that as you all certainly deserve it, but I hope that for now you all know you're appreciated and I'm very, VERY lucky you're still reading this and caring enough about it to make comments and compliments and complaints. So THANK YOU. :)

* * *

**Sleeping is giving in,  
no matter what the time is.  
Sleeping is giving in,  
so lift those heavy eyelids.**

* * *

When Faye woke up she wondered which nightmare was worse: the one she'd just had or the one she'd awakened to. Spike's long, thin body lay beside her. An arm rested limply over one of her hips, fingers at one point curled and pressed into her flesh firmly to alert him to any attempts she may make to leave him as he slept. But they'd long been exhausted. He was sleeping deeply, air and incoherent words brushing past his parted lips. Occasionally he'd moan and she'd feel a surge through the arm that held her. The movement caused her heart to sink into her stomach every single time and she began to feel nauseous.

The truth of the matter was she was at a crossroads. If she stayed with Spike, she would be committing herself to being his Valentine. If she left it would be to find out what happened to Ezekiel. She would have to leave Spike behind. She would live and die Faye Spector.

And she'd have to answer for sleeping with Spike – if not to Ezekiel, than to herself. She'd sworn to someone once, a long time ago, that she could never be with anyone else in a million years. It hadn't even been a hundred.

She watched Spike sleeping and frowned. He was really quite beautiful when he slept. More so than she ever remembered him being during all the times she'd watched him on the couch when Jet's attention was diverted by some old movie on the vid-screen. She tried to keep herself from memorizing the lines of his face. The strong jaw, the dark lashes. She quickly looked away from his mouth, moving with words she couldn't hear -- thanked Christ she couldn't, and felt her stomach churn as she absently remarked how his eyes and the bridge of his nose had actually managed to get darker and more swollen over the past two hours.

Faye easily slipped out from beneath the arm he'd tried to pin her under. As she did so a soft, sad chuckle nearly escaped her but she muffled it with her hand. Spike was never terribly good at resisting sleep, even if in the end it meant missing out on the heftiest bounties. She dressed swiftly and silently, picked up her sneakers and tip-toed out of the room, pushing slowly against the broken door to allow her enough space to escape.

She had made her decision.

She was Faye Spector first, after all. And Faye Spector had never met anyone by the name of Spike Spiegel.

* * *

**Well it's times like these  
I feel so small and wild  
Like the ramblin' footsteps of a wanderin' child  
And I'm lonesome as a lonesome whippoorwill  
Singin' these blues with a warble and a trill  
But I'm not too blue to fly  
No I'm not too blue to fly cause**

**The littlest birds sing the prettiest songs...**

* * *

Ed hadn't meant to startle Faye. Not this time, anyways.

Sure, it had always been funny to leap from the shadows with a mighty lion's roar when Faye was least expecting it. She was funny when she was angry. And Ed had to amuse herself, after all.

There was only so much to do on the ship at times. The stars bending and streaking as they made their way to wherever the bounties took them were pretty. She liked to watch them. She liked to fall asleep close to their light.

Sometimes Jet would sit by her and watch, too. She liked the smell of his cigarettes and the way the stars would move across his face, little sparks of copper seemed to appear when they collided with the pupils of his eyes. And she liked the weight of Ein's body across her feet. She liked how warm they'd get even though it made the rest of her feel the chill that settled on her skin during these journeys through deepest, darkest space.

But these quiet moments came few and far between. So she had to make almost abusive use of her imagination. She spent more of her time using it around Faye than anyone else. Spike always had an air of wanting to be alone about him. He'd never come right out and tell Ed to go away -- she knew_ that_. But sometimes she could see him prickle on her approach. She didn't know very much about Spike, although she believed she probably knew more than he would have guessed.

She knew he'd been in love with a girl named Julia who must have been pretty because Faye was pretty, too, and Spike never asked her out for coffee. Which is what Ed assumed people did when they liked eachother _that_ way.

But Ed had learned during her time on this ship that people didn't have to go out for coffee. Sometimes they just argued. Like Spike and Faye-Faye.

_Ooh. I mean Faye._

Those two argued all the time about silly things. It made Ed a little nervous at first. She had wanted to be a member of Bebop for a pretty long time and didn't want it to fall to pieces before she could truly enjoy it. But after a while she realized Spike and Faye argued because they liked talking to eachother. But they'd never admit it.

So Faye would hide Spike's boots on him or replace his toothpaste with a tube of grout whenever he refused to share his cigarettes and Spike would flush the toilet across the ship when he was sure she was mid-shower or slip Ein some new item of clothing from her room so that she couldn't return it to the shop after wearing it like she always tried to do. And it would all come to a head in the living area where they'd shout and shout and shout and call eachother names that would never really ever hurt. They'd hide behind loud voices and angry, scrunched up faces that never looked all that angry if you paid attention. Which Ed did.

Their eyes would sparkle like bubbling glitterfish scales and Faye would turn and smile to herself when she thought no one was looking and Spike would huff and stomp out of the room and into the shadows of the corridor where he'd pause to listen for Faye's footsteps behind him as though he wanted her to keep yelling at him if it was the only way the game would continue.

Ed wondered if Jet knew or if she and Ein were the only ones who realized it.

Spike and Faye wanted to have coffee together.

Ed had to admit, she wasn't entirely sure where Faye's journey would lead her. She'd secretly hoped that by letting her go she might return, realizing what Ed had already realized weeks before – that this ship was where they both belonged. It wasn't just some sort of limbo they'd found themselves in. Or at least it didn't have to be if they didn't want it to.

Faye was still fighting it. Ed realized this when she saw the crestfallen look on Faye's face as she leapt from the shadows to initiate their old game as Faye was leaving Spike's room.

Faye's hand flew to her chest and the sneakers she'd been holding in her hands thunked loudly against the cold, hard floor beneath them. She retrieved the shoes with one hand, clamping the other over Ed's mouth. Ed wondered why Faye was blushing so furiously.

"Shh!" She hissed, loosening her grip from around Ed's head to lead her back down the corridor with long, white fingers pinching into her shoulder. Ed was now the startled one. Faye finally let go of Ed, releasing her with a pat on her head before bending to slip her stockinged feet into her shoes. "I'm sorry. But Spike's sleeping."

"Spike doesn't let anyone in his room." Ed said. Although he did let her in once to teach him how to play chess. He'd mused more to himself than to her that it was something he probably should have done earlier on in life.

That's when Ed knew he was dying and that this home, like all the others she'd known, would be only temporary. That night at the foot of Jet's chair the stars held nothing for her but unwanted, infinite possibilities.

"He lets me in. Sometimes." Faye replied gently. "Ed...Where will you go?"

"Nowhere." She said firmly. She felt her voice bend painfully in her throat. "When you're lost they say to stay put so you can be found. And so Ed will be here." She touched the hand that reached out for hers. "Ed will be here when you come home."

Faye smiled and lightly dotted the sunspots across Ed's nose. Ed smiled, too, before turning her head back swiftly towards Spike's door.

"I hear something." She said.

* * *

**People try and hide the night  
underneath the covers.  
People try and hide the light  
underneath the covers.**

**Come on hide your lovers  
underneath the covers.**

* * *

Faye cringed at the sound of Spike's door screaming in its grooves as he roughly pushed it clear of his way. When she turned to look back at him against everything crying out inside of her she was a little concerned that he'd not only thrown his t-shirt and workpants back on, but had also pulled on his boots.

He was going to chase her if he had to.

Ed watched silently for a moment before carefully heading towards the kitchen area. Ein scuttled out from under one of the many shadows of the corridor, padding slowly behind Ed, and Faye wondered for a second how he'd managed to be so close to her without her hearing (or smelling) a thing. The dog always seemed pretty damn smart, though. Maybe he could feel the potential for something terrible to crack open at any moment in the air.

She and Spike watched eachother, eyes soft and surprised at what the other saw. Neither looking like the lovers they'd cradled in their minds, in their sleep.

Spike didn't have a gun on him. And Faye hadn't worn that yellow outfit he hated so much but missed just the same for eons.

"I thought you'd at least wait until morning."

"I can't stay. Roscoe doesn't even know I'm gone. And I have so much to do."

Spike didn't ask her to expand on that although he was mildly intrigued by how much she could possibly have to do.After giving it a second more of thought however,

"Are you going to look for him?"

Faye swayed as though she were still in a dream. The soft insides of the sweatshirt she wore suddenly felt like burlap itching her arms andleaden on her shoulders. "Yes."

Spike nodded. "Will you let me help you?"

"No." Her voice cracked. Her fingers moved sharply as they picked at imaginary threads hanging from the hem of theshirt. Spike's hands felt like ice and the cold was quickly spreading throughout his entire body. She was warm in bed and he'd hovered around her like she was a bonfire to keep from freezing to death under the last clean sheet he had.

"Why not?"

Faye snorted dismissively. "You know why. How could you help me? It would just mean you and me spending more time together. Arguing or …" She felt herself turning red. She felt ashamed.

"Faye. You're not betraying him. You can't betray someone no longer in your life."

Faye shook her head and chuckled bitterly. "Forgive me but I find that to be a particularly funny thing for _you_ to be saying."

"And you know what? You seem to think you have this astonishing understanding of me even though you know nothing about me."

"I know that the year I spent with you –" Sounding more like a child than she'd meant to.

Spike laughed scornfully. "What? Are you gonna say what I think you're gonna say? C'mon, Valentine! I'd love to hear it! I've missed my old comrade! The vanity and the selfishness and --"

"You have _no idea_ what I was going to say!" Faye shouted incredulously, stamping her foot.

"Really? You weren't just going to point out that the entire time we were on this ship together I never tried to sleep with you? Because what guy wouldn't want to, right? He'd have to be gay or --"

"You'd never betray Julia like that. How can you justify not having the same expectations for –"

"Twice."

"What?" Faye reeled. Her eyes met his and he seemed to swallow roughly. His eye contact didn't waver for a second.

"_Twice._" He said again. She looked at him questioningly and he offered her an unsolicited explanation. "Things ended in a way that suggested to me it was over."

"How come you? I mean I…I_ liked_ you…"

"And I'm good at shutting things off but I knew I could never be _that_ good. I saw you everyday and…I guess I came to like that. If something had ever happened, it would have to have meant nothing to me and that wasn't a guarantee. It was a time I had to be sure of that." He said. "The first woman…I was angry at Julia and stupidly thought sleeping with someone else would make me feel better. I never even asked her her name. She was married. I remember we were both angry. Her husband had been unfaithful and she wanted to get back at him. She wanted to feel beautiful. And I guess I wanted the same thing. Fair exchange, no robbery."

"And the other time?" She asked, mesmerized.

"Her name was Ele—I guess her name isn't really important, huh?" Spike said, seeing that she was poised to leave.

"You're really not who I thought you were." She said. Spike shrugged off the disappointment she radiated. "You thought I was Ezekiel." He replied.

Fed up, Faye turned to leave. "I can't do this anymore. Not until I know what's happened to him. I need to find him. You thought Julia didn't love you anymore or something like that, right? There was nowhere for you to go back to. But I _know_ he loved me…_loves_ me. He could still be out there somewhere wondering…" Over her shoulder Spike looked as though every word from her mouth left another bit of him smoking from the bullet wound left behind. "We're not breaking up, Spike. We're just opening and closing doors. Breaking up is for boyfriends and girlfriends and dances at the prom. First kisses and first dates."

She reached upwards and brought his forehead down to meet hers, whispering something only the two of them would ever know. He smiled sadly and nodded. He put his hands in his pockets to keep from trying to grab her again.

Stepping into crisp evening air she found she walked quite steadily for someone whose legs felt like they were moving through tar rather than just the oppressive and inky darkness of an oncoming night pregnant with storm. She whispered words of encouragement to herself to keep her from abandoning this new journey she'd departed on but it was hard to keep on subject. Words turned to prayers for the man she'd left behind. Words turned to prayers for both of them.

She continued walking even as she heard the clunking of those boots rather predictably dropping one after the other towards her along the old, wooden dock. _Oh, God, Spike. Please, just leave it._ She'd come to know him so awfully well. And that's just what it was now. Awful.

Spike swooped in front of her and took her shoulders brusquely in his two large hands. His garnet eyes glittered beneath the almost obscenely orange moon hanging above them like a chandelier at a dance, one pupil always slightly larger than the other -- especially at moments like this, she observed. She wondered what her eyes might be telling Spike. She wondered if they kept their secrets even from her. Perhaps he knew something she didn't. Perhaps that's why he'd followed her out here.

"We were scoping out that bounty…that small-fry who'd been dipping into his company's profits. His name was Douglas Stark. He was sitting out in broad daylight having a beer with some broad and we'd decided to take it easy and watch him from that coffee shop across the street. And you started whining about being hungry because we'd been sitting really close to that fridge with all the cakes spinning around inside it. And I told you that if you wolfed down a big slice of pie or something you'd be sorry later when we ended up chasing Stark down the street. You said that you'd need fuel if you were going to have to do any running so I told you I hoped you'd cramp up in front of a bus and I bought you the cake because you didn't have any cash on you. It was a small price to pay not to hear you bitch and moan about it all afternoon. And you looked so…you looked so goddamn _happy_ eating that cake. You looked so…and I was suddenly glad I'd decided to buy it for you."

"Because it shut me up?" She smirked.

"Because it made you smile. One I hadn't ever seen before."

"I _did_ end up getting a cramp. And we had to chase him just like you said. You grabbed my hand to drag me down that alley."

"No. I didn't." Spike said quietly. Faye looked at him curiously, misunderstanding his words' meaning for a moment or two. Tears swelled in the corners of her eyes then tumbled heavily over cheekbones flushed by night air.

_He'd felt it, too_, she marvelled.

"That was our first date," he said.

She suddenly wanted to reach her hand out and press it to his chest. She wanted to feel his heart beating again only for her in the palm of her hand so badly her own heart cried out beneath her ribs, rumbled angrily when she denied it what it wanted. If she touched him her desire would override commonsense. Mercifully Spike suddenly released her shoulders -- practically pushing her away from him, silently sending her off. He seemed to lope back to the ship with blinders on, leaving Faye staring after him and shivering in the cold left in the wake of her decision.

The blue smoke from the cigarette between his lips that seemed to appear now from sheer will alone drifted from him, swirling about her head like the confusion she felt. She faintly perceived the sound of her own voice softly begging him to stay outside a little longer, not sure later how thankful she should have been that the word hadn't been uttered loud enough for him to hear her or heed it.

* * *

Lyrics from The Arcade Fire's _Rebellion (Lies)_ and The Be Good Tanyas' _The Littlest Birds (Sing The Prettiest Songs)._


	61. Slowly I Relive A Better Past

So it's only an interlude. I apologize. I posted a one-shot recently, _Four Until Late_ (oh the shame of the plug…so, so shameless…), and that sort of took some time out of my Leadbelly-writing. I hope you'll forgive me.

Thanks so much,

ssg.x.

* * *

**I don't care if you can take it  
I can't take it anymore, I'll die  
Don't mind if you can take it  
I can't take it anymore, I'll die**

**I've always known my heart's been held by you  
****  
I've always known it's true.**

* * *

"You can't go," she sobbed. Then screamed, "_You can't go!_"

Ezekiel stood rigidly with a hand gripping the doorframe. He didn't make a sound. It didn't even look as though he were breathing. His back was to her and in the black jacket and trousers he looked like a man going off to his own funeral.

"Bea…" He finally whispered.

"_Don't call me that!_" She cried. "Don't ever call me that again you selfish –"

"_I'm not_!" He shouted back unexpectedly. He'd been so soft-spoken for so long, so calm throughout this entire ordeal, that Bea visibly jumped and shook in the wake of his outburst. He was nearly immediately sorry for shouting at her. This was painful for her, too. She loved her, too.

Bea caught herself and glared at him with cat-like eyes narrowed to angry slivers. She looked so much like Faye. She was wearing one of her dresses. She wore a different one everyday secretly hoping he'd be reminded of what he was leaving behind. She'd known this was coming for a while now. She was prepared. Bea Spector was almost always prepared.

_Very nearly almost always._

"I'll tell her what you've done. When she wakes up. I'll tell her _everything_."

Ezekiel was suddenly up in flames. His eyes looked like those of a stranger. Like she wasn't even in the room with him.

He looked like a man battling God.

"You don't know what it's like! You don't love her like I love her! _You've never been inside her! You've never touched her soul!_ I'm a fucking dead man until she comes back! The pain is unbearable but I can't even put a fucking bullet through my skull because any day now…any day now I think she might…" He gripped the doorframe and with what could only be described as a howl, tore a piece from it and watched it clatter across the floor, a trail of plaster, paint chips and splinters following close behind. His knuckles began to bleed and he moaned more animal-like than man. He crouched down in the doorway and brought the hand to his mouth.

Bea watched him from the window of her bedroom, so much smaller than the giant picture window she used to look out of from the old house. The one that had been destroyed two years ago in the accident. She watched him, simultaneously repelled and moved by his display.

_She's my sister_, she wanted to cry out, outraged by his self-centredness. But instead, she approached him and knelt down beside him, taking the injured hand up in the hem of Faye's dress. She very slowly dabbed at the blood. She'd always had a bit of a crush on him as little sisters often have on their big sisters boyfriends, and if this was only two years ago she would have been thrilled to have held his hand this way. _But now…_

"I wanted to say good-bye, Bea. Beatrice. I needed to say good-bye to you."

"Good-bye," she couldn't help but spit back, caught up momentarily in the ripples of earlier's anger. She was sorry for it before she even spoke.

He suddenly gathered her up in his arms and squeezed with all his might. He wanted her to know he didn't want to go. He wanted her to save him from all of this. He wanted to hurt her as her words hurt him. He wanted to leave bruises behind, if that would remind her that he was going to be with her here in spirit. He was never going to leave completely.

"Good-bye, Bea."

As he was about to climb into his cab, Ezekiel felt a prickling at the nape of his neck. He always turned to look over his shoulder. He always hoped he'd turn and _she'd_ be there, tickling the back of his neck with her breath. He always hoped he'd feel her long, thin arms coming around his waist, pressing into the hard plane of his stomach, her face leaning into him, her breath warm and shiver-inducing on his back.

But the last time that happened it only turned out to be a girl named Nora. The girl he was going to marry this afternoon.

* * *

_Lyrics from Black Rebel Motorcycle Club's Shade of Blue…don't sue me, please?_


	62. A Load Of Nothing In Your Hand

_A black eyed dog he called at my door  
The black eyed dog he called for more  
A black eyed dog he knew my name _

* * *

Jet had seen some pretty incredible shiners in his time, but the pair Spike was currently sporting was by far the most impressive. It scored near-perfect scores in all categories. Jet wondered what kind of woman could have gotten close enough to Spike to manage such a feat. What kind of a fighter could do so much damage in the small amount of time Spike's skill would have allowed.

Jet let out a low whistle when he saw Spike and those black eyes of his sitting quietly behind Ed as her hands danced along the parameters of her keyboard as though she were milking information out of a crystal ball. He quietly sucked at a cigarette, dark eyes flashing briefly in Jet's direction to acknowledge his presence before returning to the computer monitor.

Ed grinned broadly at Jet, singing something to herself in Spanish. If his head was in the right place at the moment he probably would have recognized it. Something about a white rose in January or something like that. He'd picked up a little of the language long ago during a rookie beat in a predominantly Spanish neighbourhood. He was too tired to bother with another thought as to how Ed became familiar with the language.

He drew closer to Spike to get a better look at his face to the soundtrack of old Spanish folk tunes being sung by a lunatic.

"Jesus, she really did a number on you," he said. Spike glared back at him.

"Yeah, well…"

"Why was she here? Did you find out what she wanted?" Jet asked. Spike's indifference to the invasion unnerved him a little.

"You know women. Closure. They're obsessed with it. They need it written six feet high and hanging off a cruise ship."

Jet took another moment to come into the realization that they were talking about two different people.

"Faye? Faye did that?" Jet pursed his lips to keep from grinning, the seriousness of a potential intruder momentarily forgotten. He'd thought the broad had lost her spark but it seemed there were a couple of glowing embers hiding in there somewhere yet. "Did this closure involve a heavy door on your head?"

Spike bristled visibly and huffed, however pretending he wasn't bothered bythe comment he asked, "Who were _you _talking about?"

"Ana saw a woman leaving the ship earlier this evening. A red-haired woman," Jet explained.

"I didn't see anyone," Spike answered, still none too concerned. Clearly he had other things on his mind.

"You were probably too busy getting your head kicked in to notice. I didn't see anything suspicious either. Ed," Jet directed his attention to the back of Ed's swaying, humming head, "did you see anything strange?"

"Strange?"

Look who he was asking.

"Yeah."

"Strange like Faye sneaking out of Spike's room strange or strange like red-haired girls running through the corridors with tools strange?"

"The second one," Jet replied weakly, not wanting to ask Spike why he and Faye always seemed to come out of their conjugal visits looking like a couple of crashed cars.

Ed pushed her goggles up to the crown of her fiery head and bit her lip, pausing methodically.

"Run, run, running like a long and black spider…Ed saw her only for a second then she disappeared. Quick and quiet but I heard her rattle like a snake."

"What kind of tools did she have on her?"

"Couldn't see. She moved too fast. _Never let a dream machine gather dust in your garage,_" Ed sang, wagging a finger at Jet as though berating a small child before turning back to her work and trailing off into a pleasant whistling.

"Spike, can you translate? I'm too tired right now."

"I could be wrong but I think she's talking about the Alpha-Catch," Spike answered, still focused on their mysterious task at hand.

"Oh," Jet muttered. He folded his arms and turned to leave the room to have a look at the Alpha-Catch. He wondered why anyone would want to try to steal that old pile of junk. It wasn't quite old enough to be a relic that was worth anything, even in pieces. Not that there was anything more worthwhile to steal on the ship but still.

Curiousity finally got the better of him, though, and he turned back to the pair before returning to his workbench to pick up some tools for the chore that would be dissecting and examining the Alpha-Catch.

"What in the hell are you two up to, anyways?"

"Looking for earthlings," Ed exploded excitedly. Jet shook his head and went to search for his tools, wanting to use whatever energy he had left in his body for the all-night job that waited for him in the other room instead of wasting it trying to find his way out of the maze of Ed's madness.

* * *

_Oh can't you see  
It's the life I don't need  
Please don't make this thing up for me  
The day's been so damn hard already  
So buckle me in on the highway of sin  
'Cause that's just the way that I wanna be_

_All uncovered_

* * *

Once Jet had left the room Ed spoke as she continued to hack, hack, hack away at files older than even him.

"Spike-person…?"

"Or maybe just _Spike_," he mumbled back tiredly.

"I thought Faye didn't want your help."

"I'm going to pretend you didn't just admit to eavesdropping on our conversation," Spike's sigh was long and hissing. "Women sometimes say _no_ when they mean _yes_."

Ed thought about that for a moment, "So women lie?"

"Yeah. Sort of," He answered, pressing on his temples.

"Oh," Ed continued to type quietly. This wasn't sitting well with her. Not at all.

"Spike-per – Spike?"

"_What._"

"Why'd you let her go again?"

"Because she didn't want to stay."

"Maybe she was lying again. Maybe she wanted to stay."

"I don't think so. I think she was telling the truth that time."

"Oh."

She listened to Spike shifting his long, skeletal body on the sofa as he muttered to himself.

"Spike?"

"_Jesus Christ, Ed!_ Just get me the information I need so we can get some sleep."

Ed was unfazed by his hurtful outburst but she would probably remember it later and sniffle into Ein's fur while she grabbed at rags and tags of sleep in the wee hours of the morning.

"Men lie, too, right Spike?"

"Everyone lies, Ed. Everyone lies."

"Ed doesn't lie."

"Well, you're most definitely not like everyone now, are you kid?" he said, smiling almost affectionately for a moment. Okay, maybe Ed could forgive him for making Faye go away again. She'd consider it, at any rate.

"Does Faye really want your help?"

"No. Probably not."

"So you lied?"

"I guess. I'm not sure it counts when you're doing it to yourself, though."

Ed continued to fly seamlessly through newspaper archives and confidential government and medical files. The name Ezekiel Chadwick had meant nothing to her a short while ago. Only a name she'd heard Faye and Spike speak as they argued earlier, but she felt something catch in her throat – her heart maybe – when she abruptly struck upon an article about the untimely death of a musician from the band Nadsat at the age of thirty.

_Ezekiel Chadwick's friend and former bandmate, James Van Nuys, discovered his body in the kitchen of his home, dead four days from a massive heart attack…_

In the hour they'd been searching for information on his whereabouts, Ed had seen about a thousand pictures of him. Enough pictures to make a friend out of all of them.

"Oh, no, no…" she moaned gently. She shook her head and sighed. Ein crept towards her along the breath of her sadness. He seemed to look curiously at the monitor before settling beside her on the coffee table and placing his head in her lap.

Spike was already behind her and reading at the sound of her fingers lifting from the keys.

"Fuck," He whispered miserably, suddenly sounding a hundred years old.

"What do we do now?" Ed asked quietly.

Spike closed his eyes for a moment and Ed watched his eyeballs moving beneath their lids slowly from side to side, watched his head sway slightly, too heavy for him to carry anymore. He opened his eyes again and rubbed his hand along his stubbled jaw, the sound similar to that of her suddenly dry tongue moving inside her parched mouth.

"Ed, this is important. We need to keep this to ourselves. She can't find this out now. It's too much." When he saw the look of doubt flash across her young face he whipped the goggles from around her head and grabbed her shoulders with enough strength to make her gasp.

"This'll kill her Ed. Do you understand? This could be the death of her." His grip lessened and his gaze softened. Entreated her. He didn't let go until she nodded reluctantly.

"So we lie to her?"

"Yes, Ed," he whispered, "We lie."

* * *

**Lyrics from Nick Drake's _Black-Eyed Dog_, Neil Young's _Dream Machine_ and The Watchmen's _All Uncovered_. Don't sue me, please…**


	63. I Believe In 'Til There Was You'

_i seem to recognize your face  
haunting, familiar, yet i can't seem to place it  
cannot find the candle of thought to light your name  
lifetimes are catching up with me  
all these changes taking place, i wish i'd seen the place  
but no one's ever taken me_

_i swear i recognize your breath  
memories like fingerprints are slowly raising _

_you wouldn't recall, for i'm not my former  
it's hard when, you're stuck upon the shelf  
i changed by not changing at all, small town predicts my fate  
perhaps that's what no one wants to see  
i just want to scream "hello"  
my god it's been so long, never dreamed you'd return  
but now here you are, and here i am  
hearts and thoughts they fade away_

* * *

"I'm sorry. I didn't realize the time. I can come back in the morning, or afternoon –"

"Come on, Faye. Don't be like that. Of course you can come in now." Beatrice reached out and hooked her arm through Faye's. She let herself be pulled from out of the obscenely lit hallway into the strangely honey-scented foyer of her sister's apartment. It was like how she'd remembered her grandmother's bungalow smelling and Faye had to remind herself that this was her sister.

When she looked up again into Bea's eyes, she could see her in there. She could see her just as the last time she'd seen her before the accident. It was like Bea had suddenly come back to life again. Faye's heart beat painfully in her chest. If she was a braver woman she would have pulled the older woman against her, sobbed her happiness at having her again, knowing her again. But instead she moved rather robotically behind her, following her into her small, pink livingroom.

"I used to wake you up in the middle of the night all the time when I'd have those night terrors, remember? I'd sing that song until you let me get in the bed with you. I can't remember what it was called. _Call Me Anytime? Call Me In The Night_?"

"It was just _Call Me_." Faye said, sounding like an automated response at the other end of a phonecall. She tried to smile but was just too exhausted. She hoped her sister still possessed that amazing power to sense when she wasn't quite at her best.

Bea laughed, "That's right! I remember mom had that on about a dozen cds. She used to sing along while she was making us breakfast Saturday mornings and we'd roll our eyes and beg her to stop."

"And she never listened." Faye recalled wistfully. She looked up at Bea who smiled back at her sadly. She shook her head, seeming to marvel at the memory. "I haven't thought about that in years." She motioned for Faye to sit on the loveseat as she settled down onto it herself. She arranged her nightdress around her legs before placing one of her small hands over Faye's in her lap. "I'm glad you came back. I'm glad you're okay. I was really worried. Your…your friend…" She seemed to be examining Faye's expression as she spoke. Faye stared at her blankly. "Your friend came looking for you and I was scared that maybe all of this had been too much for you. He was a friend of yours, right?"

"Yes," Faye said. "He was a friend of mine."

Beatrice let out a breath she'd been holding and smiled again. "Oh good. I'm happy that you have people looking after you."

"Beatrice. I came here tonight because I remember…like, a lot of stuff. But I have questions. I have lots of questions and I don't want to keep you up…"

"I'm old but I'm not an archaeological find, Faye," Bea's eyes glimmered while she spoke, her voice laced with laughter. She still had it. She could still put Faye at ease with just a curl of her lips.

"We'll see who falls asleep on the couch first then," Faye replied wryly, reflecting the wicked grin on her little sister's face.

* * *

_And I believed in solitude  
I believed too little was few  
Free for all your happiness  
And no one's living on their wits_

One so kind and one so wise  
One so kind throughout your life

Fill yourself with dreams  
Come fill yourself with dreams

* * *

Beatrice carefully pushed the door to her apartment closed after watching Faye disappear into the elevator. Sighing heavily, she pulled the neck of her robe tightly into her fist and pressed it into her heart. Under her breath she whispered blessings that Faye would be alright, that the journey home would be a safe one, that the hands that held her now were as capable as those that held her many years before, that were finally able to hold her again tonight.

She padded back through the kitchen and pushed aside the curtain and screen door leading out to her narrow balcony.

"So?" She whispered, peering into the darkness and smiling hopefully.

The head of the man sitting in the old club chair in the corner was tilted back. His eyes were gleaming even in such heavy darkness. He was shaking so violently it took several moments for Beatrice to realize he was nodding.

"Yes," he barely croaked.

"Such a difference from the other girl, don't you think? The second I laid eyes on her I knew…" Beatrice began. Ezekiel didn't move, just kept staring out into the night. Beatrice looked down over the rail at the street and watched Faye as she exited the building. She seemed to be rubbing her arms for warmth as she hurried across the street, disappearing from the pools of light cast from the streetlamps.

Beatrice turned and offered Ezekiel her hand to help him out of the chair. He relented for a moment and she squeezed his long, thin fingers gently.

"Come now. It's going to start raining any second. I'll make us some tea."

"I don't drink tea," he whispered. She chuckled.

"Yes, well. You can sit and watch me have a cup, then."

Beatrice boiled the water and steeped the tea, all in silence. She knew he needed time to let this sink in but she was crying inside to find out what he was feeling and thinking right now. He'd been sitting out there the entire time. She'd left the door open for him to hear. He had so many doubts about this. She didn't blame him. After that first girl's visit…

The minutes continued on even more uncomfortably to the rhythm of Ezekiel's laboured breathing.

"You're taking something for that?" She asked looking back over her shoulder as she rummaged through several drawers for a teaspoon. Ezekiel shook his head only half paying attention.

"I wish you would. Heart problems can never be taken lightly."

"No. I don't suppose they can," he replied rather abysmally. Beatrice made a sympathetic clucking sound in the back of her throat. He waved away her pity as though it were an insect buzzing too close to his ear.

She eased into the kitchen chair across from him, nudging a glass of water she'd brought over along with her tea across to him. His hand was still shaking and the water in the glass rippled with his trembling when he finally took it and ventured a sip.

"She's looking for you." Beatrice said carefully. Her patience hadn't improved with age it seemed.

"I heard."

"Will you see her?"

Ezekiel didn't answer.

"I guess that's a 'no', still?"

"Bea," he began tiredly, "you have no idea – I – I'm not nearly the same person I was back then. _You_ should know that if no one else."

"Oh, stop it! You haven't changed all that much. Okay, so you've aged a few years. So have I! We all have. But," she leaned forward, speaking almost confidentially, "I can see him in there, you know. I can see the boy who followed my sister home that day sixty some odd years ago. He's hiding behind that sour, hardened face, deep in that clunky old heart of yours somewhere."

Ezekiel sat back and very nearly laughed if he didn't know how much it would hurt.

"And you're still a little brat," he smirked. "I'm not ready. And right now I'm mostly concerning myself with her safety."

"So you think they know? They've found her?"

"They've known about her for some time, I'm sure. That first girl – I think she was a decoy. I think she was just sent to give them more time to find her. They wanted to make sure they got to her before we did. Does _she_ know?" He hadn't yet spoken Faye's name aloud.

"It's hard to say. She's only beginning to remember things so she's still pretty uncomfortable around me. It's difficult to differentiate between just regular nerves and fear. She hasn't mentioned anything and neither have I. She has to take care of herself right now. I can't have her worrying about me, too. She's already carrying such a burden…"

"Your children are safe?"

"Yes. I went to great lengths to keep them as far away from this as possible. Ezekiel…?" A question had been nagging her since that unnerving encounter with Faye's friend a while back.

"Yes?"

"Do…do you have any children?"

Ezekiel blinked, laughing into his glass before finishing up his water. "What? You think anyone as self-interested as me could ever have children?"

Beatrice shook her head, "Self-interested? You only ever think of _her_. Look at the state you're in now. How long have you had heart problems?"

Ezekiel smiled wistfully, looking so much like Faye Beatrice found herself missing her sister already.

"Ever since she first spoke to me."

* * *

**Lyrics taken from Pearl Jam's _Elderly Woman Behind The Counter in a Small Town_ and Clinic's _Harmony. Don't sue, please?_**


	64. When The Minutes Drag

So.

I've been in a strange sort of down mood lately. But I posted two chapters in a matter of days. I have that going for me. I'd love to know if you're still out there. Sometimes it's nice to know, you know?

I love you and I miss you.

ssg.x.

_

* * *

_

_Dear Faye,_

_  
Why won't you come back? why won't you come back?why won't you come back?_

_Fuckfuckfuck_

_Dear Faye,_

_There's more of you left in me than my own blood. You're wrapped around me tighter than my own skin and I'm sorry for everything and I don't love her. _

_I don't love her._

_Faye_

_Faye,_

_You'll wake up one day and you won't remember me. This is how it's supposed to be and I wouldn't risk your safety for the universe and everything in it but it still slowly kills me with every passing day. You'll wake up one afternoon and the sun might be shining. The sky will be blue and the winds will be warm and you'll think the day is perfect because you won't know any different._

_You'll never know I ever existed._

_Faye,_

_Today I married another woman. I don't love her. I'll never love her. Why is this happening_

_Dear Faye,_

_You'd hate the person I am now. Maybe it's better that you won't remember who I was because you could never love the person I've become._

_Dear Faye,_

_Dear Faye,_

_Dearest Faye…_

* * *

_If you make me scared  
If that's what you do  
If I'm unclear  
__can I get out of this thing  
with me and you_

If you feel scared  
_or a bit confused  
I gotta say  
__this sounds a little beyond  
__anything I'm used to_

* * *

"I got something for you."

Faye looked up and over the lumps and bumps of her duvet cover to where Roscoe stood in the doorway. She'd slept the entire day away in her clothes from the night before, still moist and smelling of the storm.

After leaving her sister's she'd walked through the streets leading to Roscoe's in a daze. She couldn't even begin to figure out how long she'd been walking for, just that when she finally reached the steps at the entrance of his building, her eyes were stinging from mid-morning rays and the city seemed to be in full-swing.

She looked at Roscoe suspiciously for a moment but he smiled gently and gestured with his hand to follow him out into the hallway. Something about his smiles. They seemed to be able to draw ones from her in return. She shrugged off the aches and pains in her joints, giving her arms a little stretch as she shuffled after Roscoe.

She followed him into the living room and he motioned for her to sit down. As he followed suit he reached for the plain, white box he'd placed there. He carefully put it on her lap and she looked across at him sadly.

"Roscoe. I don't want you buying things for me. You're putting yourself out already by letting me –"

Roscoe shushed her pat the lid of the box. "It's not a gift. You'll need it. I'm going to be asking you for a favour in a second."

Faye's eyes widened anxiously for a second before slowly opening the box. She set the lid aside and untucked the sheets of tissue paper prolonging the suspense. Buried beneath was a jade coloured cocktail dress. She looked back at Roscoe curiously.

"I have to go to the wrap-up party and I need you to come with me. Well…I want you to come with me." Roscoe ambled clumsily through the request and Faye's answer seem to come across just as bumpy a road.

"I…I…Roscoe…I…" she seemed to shake herself back into some sense. "I'm not sure I should."

Roscoe reached over to the dress in her lap and pulled it from its casing. He spread it across his legs, "I made sure I got you something nice. I didn't want you to be uncomfortable. I can take it back if you want. I just sort of didn't want to go to this thing by myself. Those people…I can't stand so many of them."

Faye watched him smooth out the fabric gingerly and felt her stomach sink. Of course she could go. It was the least she could do for him. The very least. She brought a hand out and held Roscoe's beneath it. He seemed to very nearly jump out of his skin. He pulled his hand out from under hers and brought it close to him as though he were afraid she was going to take it off with fangs if he wasn't careful.

"I'll go with you. I'd like to go with you," Faye said. She smiled but Roscoe just nodded and folded the dress back up carefully before replacing it in the box.

"Roscoe…I'm sorry I'm being so selfish. I really would like to go."

"You're not being selfish."

"Yeah, I am. I'm sorry. You were so excited a moment before and I --"

"Faye, you need to leave." Roscoe abruptly stood from her side and walked swiftly towards the sliding doors leading to the balcony. He disappeared outside opening and closing the door so quickly she almost lost a foot trying to follow him.

Stunned, she stood frozen on the other side of the glass as he leant over the balcony's rail with his back to her. When she finally regained herself and her ability to move she opened the door and caught site of his knuckles whitening as his grip tightened on the rail.

"It's for your own good," he whispered.

"My own good?" Faye repeated lamely.

"I can't let you stay here. I'm only thinking about myself. You think I'm all these things to you and I only want to be one thing and you being here and me feeling this stuff…I'm not this person you've made me out to be…or I've made myself out to be. Fuck…" He squeezed his head between his hands. "I don't even know anymore. I don't know if I'm acting or I'm…"

"Shh…Roscoe. You're going too fast and I think you're leaving out certain details. You were upset earlier, too, when I got back. Did something happen while I was gone?"

Roscoe whirled towards her, his hands catching her face between them. "You need to get out of here, Faye. Please…"

His eyes cut clear through hers and in that second Faye found herself thinking about how easy it would be to forget about her past, or pasts, and fall in love with Roscoe. A good man with no skeletons or lost loves decomposing in his closet. She wouldn't have to be Faye Spector or Faye Valentine. She could stay this person she'd become with no pressure to lean one way or the other. They would wake up and sip their coffee together in the mornings whilst reading the paper as they'd been doing for the past couple of weeks. She'd sort of come to enjoy it. She'd come to feel safe in the knowledge that she could come home and have someone waiting for her. Someone who was always happy to see her. They were like a couple. A normal couple. And with this coupling she could become a normal girl.

She carefully lifted herself towards Roscoe on the tips of her toes, perhaps half out of her mind, and her lips brushed against his jaw…

For a moment his mouth slipped against hers and she felt the hum of his moan between her lips. They both seemed to realize their mistake at the exact same second and lightening striking the ground between them couldn't have separated them any more efficiently. She was too ashamed to even look at Roscoe for his reaction. She could only imagine hurt or repulsion or both.

_Ezekiel. Forgive me._

"I'm sorry…" she suddenly choked out, not sure to whom she owed the heftier apology. She threw the sliding door aside and hurled herself within, whipping down the hallway to her room.

_It's not your room. It never was. And now he wants you to leave._

She grabbed her bag from under the bed and started haphazardly throwing in little pieces of herself from the dresser top nearby. She clumsily stumbled about trying to get her stockinged feet back into her shoes. They were still soaked and the laces on one were caught up in a knot. She stumbled towards the front door with one shoe on and the other in her hand, dragging her bag behind her.

"Faye."

"Roscoe…" She didn't turn around but she could feel his eyes on her. She couldn't look at him. "I'm a disgusting person. You're right to send me away."

"Come with me to the party."

Faye let out a shaky breath and nodded after an extended period of time. He approached her carefully, reaching out his hand to gently coax her bag from her fingers. He dropped it at her feet and brought his other hand around her shoulders, touching her without a trace of the reluctance or fear of earlier.

"None of this ever happened, okay? We both just woke up after a rough night and some weird dreams. We're having coffee and reading the paper and it's just another morning like all the others. We're two normal people having breakfast."

She returned his forced smile with one of her own and let him lead her back to her room.

Normal.

Right.

* * *

**Lyrics from The Tragically Hip's _Scared_. Don't sue, please and thank you. :)**


	65. The Life I've Been Sold

So.

Excuse the swearing but HOLY SHIT! THREE CHAPTERS IN TWO WEEKS!

Okay, so this is an interlude…but it's an important interlude. Be sure to pay attention, okay?

Thanks so much for the reviews. I'm not a review hog. I'm a bi-polar manic depressive who needs encouragement at every turn. I'm so needy. :D

I love you. You know that, right? I'm not just saying it to get into your skivvies.

ssg.x.

* * *

_I am the line, _

_I hold you near,  
There is no burden left to bear, _

_I can see clear,  
You're in suspension, you know no love,  
There is no story left to tell, _

_You have no wisdom to pass on,  
I am the soul of absolution, _

_No man can hurt his own illusion,  
My hands are crippled from the pain, _

_You are the splinter in my vein._

* * *

Ezekiel hadn't worn a tie since he'd last been to church and that was almost a year after Faye had been taken from him. His mother may have been trying to be helpful. She may have been trying to be smug. All he knew was that her words had the opposite effect of what she was probably hoping.

"This is God's will. God took that girl away from you for a reason. Maybe because you've strayed from the path He set out for you."

Ezekiel stopped praying to God for her return. He stopped talking to God altogether save the muttered curse here and there. That day he left his parents' house for the last time. He never saw them again. He'd heard that his father died from an illness indirectly caused by the Gate incident and that his mother had remarried someone she'd met through grief counselling. God was a funny bastard.

Three weeks after his wedding day, Ezekiel found himself at a photo shoot for a men's magazine along with his fellow bandmates. The stylist insisted he wear a tie chosen out specifically for him by the designer. Ezekiel refused. The photographer…That fucking photographer…

Fuck. The stupid photographer should have just stayed out of it. He should have just let it go. But he just kept pushing him and pushing him in an attempt to win an imagined contest for who was bigger in the business. And then the poor fuck snatched the tie from the stylist's hands and charged towards him in a ridiculous attempt to put the tie on Ezekiel against his will.

Faye was never coming back. But this weasly piece of garbage…he walked the streets and breathed the air that should have rightfully been hers. God wasn't infallible like all those deluded preachers believed. He'd made a mistake. He'd taken away a girl who lived every day of her life as proof that he existed. He'd unwittingly killed two of his firmest believers that day. He was a fraud.

Ezekiel became enraged and found himself grabbing up the tie in a sharpened fist and getting it around the photographer's neck. The next few moments were a blur but James said he started tightening the tie as the photographer's outrage quickly turned to wails of desperation, and then choked pleas for his life. Ezekiel hovered above him, blinded by his fury as the photographer sank to his knees, breathless, while the other band members tried to pull him off the dumb bastard.

* * *

_I am the line,  
__I hold you near,  
There is no burden left to bear,  
__I can see clear,  
I am perfected,  
__I know no void,  
I have no conscience to keep clear_

* * *

"You think I can't hear you? You think you're safe in there? I can hear you saying her name! I can hear you moaning it in the shower! I hear you whisper it under your breath when you're too exhausted to think of anything else!"

Nora had found Faye's picture and several of her old school notebooks in one of Ezekiel's many rooms spread throughout the house. The notebooks were pieces of art in themselves, covered in her little drawings and scribbles. Several of them had _Faye Chadwick_ carefully scrawled throughout the pages. Inside one the words _last night_ were written over and over across three pages. The pages were fraying and the writing looked to be slowly but steadily fading since it first met paper years ago.

Ezekiel didn't tell Nora that he would lie with his face pressed to the paper, inhaling the imagined essence of his life's love, and then fall asleep beside his wife drained of the physical ability to fulfill his marital duties. He did this almost every night he had to spend with her.

Let her think he was impotent. Let her think it wasn't because she couldn't hold a candle to Faye. Let her think he was fucked up.

Well. He _was_ fucked up.

"Are you _trying_ to hurt me? Have you wanted me to know all along? I always thought you were at least _trying_ to love me back. I thought you were _trying_ to forget…" she cried, wild-eyed with a tightly clenched fist beating her chest. Ezekiel watched her with cold eyes. He was too tired to muster up the slightest bit of remorse tonight. He'd had a rough week. He'd had a rough five years.

_Yes. For fuck's sake, Nora. Just go. Just leave me alone. Please…_

And that night, after three years of agony for both parties involved, she mercifully left Ezekiel alone for good. That night he slept with the notebooks under his pillow, beneath the soft, green gaze of the object of his idolatry now occupying the vacated picture frame Nora had kept by her bedside. The discarded wedding photo lay crumpled and forgotten not far from its former home.

* * *

**Lyrics from Black Rebel Motorcycle Club's _The Line_. Don't sue me, please.**


	66. I Lost You But I Found Country Music

**Thanks so much for the reviews. I've been going through some rough patches the past few weeks and your comments – good and bad -- encouragement, and interest never fail to cheer me up over the course of these grey days coming and going.**

**I love you. You make me happy to be me.**

**ssg.x.**

* * *

Spike pulled on a pristine pair of black wingtips, tying the laces with a severe lack of nimbleness. He hadn't worn anything with laces in…hmm.

He brushed the dog hair off the black trousers of his tuxedo and turned, catching a glimpse of his dark reflection in the window of the training area. He rolled his eyes, the bruising around them yellowed in some places and blackened in others like grease paint smeared across his face haphazardly. Clothes certainly did not make the man. He already knew the black bowtie was going to feel like a noose all night. The cufflinks were too shiny and ornate for his taste. The trouser socks he wore were paisley. _Paisley_ for fuck's sake. He felt like a tool.

Spike and Jet both smothered their laughter as they passed eachother in the corridor, eyes scanning the other from head to toe, amused by the changes in appearance the new clothes brought out. Which, truth be told, were very nearly none. Jet looked like the Incredible Hulk, muscles taut and about to burst from the joints of the tuxedo and the fabric dye hadn't yet been invented that could compliment Spike's hair.

"Looking pretty snappy," Spike nodded sarcastically.

"Fuck off, martian," Jet replied jovially.

Returning to his room, Spike took his gun up from his nightstand into a sweaty palm, tucking it beneath his cummerbund, against the small of his back. The metal was cold on contact but warmed to his body temperature quicker than usual tonight.

How the fuck was he supposed to pretend she wasn't there?

He hadn't expressed to Jet that he didn't want to go. He'd been thinking all night of ways he could get out of it. The old Spike wouldn't have bothered. He'd just have refused to go. How he'd changed…

"_Tell me you love me."_

"_I'd be lying."_

His cheeks flushed, he felt hot from the reminder of the rejection. He felt dizzy from the conflicting feelings the memory of it sparked. His lips were dry and he wanted her there to wet them with her words again, her mouth, her tongue.

"_It would be a lie."_

After helping Jet return the tools to his workshop, finding nothing other than the unsettling of some dust to suggest the Alpha-Catch had been tampered with, he noticed a photo of Faye sitting in a jar with all the other containers of odds and ends Jet kept on a shelf above his workbench.

She looked rather disgruntled in the photo, her lips pulled tightly into an almost comical frown. The look on her face was one you'd see on someone waiting in the dentist's chair for all their teeth to be pulled out. If the photo was taken when he believed it was, then Faye's hands were handcuffed behind her back and she'd just been brought back to the ship after running out on them with that suitcase of cash care of the greedy casino owner who'd first brought her into their lives.

_Easy on the eyes, but clearly also a big, fucking mess. Not so smart, but crafty._

Spike tried to conjure the image of the old Faye, the one whose voice would be at times as welcome as the sound of a cat frantically trying to climb the useful side of a chalkboard.

* * *

"Handcuffs? You don't think I really need those, do you? I mean, I don't have any cash, I'm completely out of gas and we're out in the middle of nowhere. Where the hell am I gonna go?" She'd looked at him almost pleadingly, but it was so rehearsed Spike actually laughed in her face.

"You're funny. I'll almost be sorry to see you go." His stomach growled and he looked over at the pile of clothes and shoes she'd purchased with their money. He thought about how much food all that cash could have bought and tightened the handcuffs until she yelped in discomfort. She glared at him while Jet took the picture.

"Just in case you manage to weasel your way out of here again," he explained smugly, snatching up her lipstick communicator and the last two cigarettes from the pack they'd found on her. He handed one to Spike who made a grand gesture out of taking one and lighting it.

"It's not really your colour," Faye grumbled.

"Says you," Jet replied.

"You know," she called after him as he strode to the main room, lighting a cigarette and examining the tiny communicator along the way, "I don't normally let guys handcuff me and take photos until at least the third date."

"I figured you'd make an exception since we had such a fabulous first," Spike grinned, leaning close to her and winking. Faye's cheeks had coloured noticeably and Spike turned away before his had a chance to do the same. He was still a sucker for a pretty girl. He smiled to himself as he walked away.

"_You shall meet a woman. You shall be targeted by that woman... and... death."_

Yeah, alright.

Faye Valentine was no woman. She was a girl trapped in a go-go dancer's body. As far as Spike was concerned she may as well have been handcuffed to that pipe eating an apple and wearing a snake. It had been a while since he'd been with anyone that way, but it could be a little while longer. Spike was nothing if he wasn't patient.

He took little pride in his patience these days, however. He'd lasted longer than many other men in the same position would have but the reward was nowhere near as sweet as the sin would have been if there was any sin to be committed.

He wondered what Eden he'd been protecting. He wondered why he'd made Faye out to be the Devil all those months.

* * *

**I played hide and seek and found you  
****I brought a small bouquet to give you  
****Full of daydreams and cliches to please you  
****I'm such a novice at this  
****Forgive me**

* * *

_Kissing her. Kissing Faye…_

Fairytales and tunes of tumbling down the rabbit hole, falling through from an imagined paradise to another, taking the whole of the universe with you as you slip along the sheer walls of decisions hastily made. Spike could tell these stories, could sing these songs. Kissing Faye had been like leaving the world for a stranger one. Arousal and avidity, blood and body, shifting directionless and screaming like the insides of a ship turning on its side.

Spike absently fingered the bouquet sitting on his nightstand that he'd procured from a small flowerstand he'd passed with Jet on their way back from the shop they'd "borrowed" the suits from. Jet had paid off a stock boy to sneak out two tuxedos for them, believing that if _some_ money was exchanged for the goods, it wasn't really stealing. The kid threw in the socks, suspenders and ties for free.

"I've been here three years and I haven't seen a single woolong more than minimum since I started. Stupid, cheap son of a bitch," he'd laughed as he shoved a non-descript bag at Jet.

Jet had subtly stopped by the flower stand to pick up something for Ana. Spike was amused by the sight of Jet asking which flowers lasted longer and his interest as the woman explained the symbolism of different colours and species of each.

Spike just about howled, though, when Jet settled on a small wrist corsage of purple pansies.

"Pansies…" he'd choked. Jet looked embarrassed but it passed quickly as he opened the small box he held in his hands, peeking in and smiling at the small and delicate thing. Spike almost felt bad for laughing when he saw how happy Jet seemed. Almost.

"You know, if you like them so much maybe you should buy some for yourself for the coffee table."

"Fuck off."

"And you," the woman suddenly addressed Spike seriously. Spike stifled his giggling and turned to see the woman holding out a small bouquet of white poppies and cranberries.

"No thanks. I don't have a date for the prom," he said, holding up a hand and shaking his head.

The woman shook the bouquet at him rather insistently, "Take, take."

Spike took the small bouquet and regarded them coolly. "So what do these things mean?"

Stroking his wrist as though he were her patient in a recovery ward, she explained confidentially, "White poppies can kill or cure you. They symbolize both your bane and your antidote. They are two sides of the same coin."

Spike's fingers squeezed painfully around the bouquet until he was sure he'd cut himself in several places and she trimmed and tied a black ribbon around the stems and branches.

"The cranberries are a cure for heartache," she said, smiling sympathetically.

"And urinary tract infections," Jet cut in, breaking Spike's trance and handing the woman her money.

They made their way home without mentioning Faye or the movie or the crumbling ties between the two of them. Jet told Spike an old cop story and Spike had enough pansy jokes in him to last them the entire trip back to the ship.

Spike sat on his bed and held the bouquet in two hands, staring into the flowers' centres like eyes he beckoned answers from.

"Spike, time to get going." Jet poked his head into Spike's room. He watched Spike handling the bouquet clumsily and sighed to himself.

"Spike," Jet began carefully. Spike looked up from the flowers, embarrassed at being caught with them. "When have you ever settled for second best?"

Spike didn't move or speak for a length of time, just sat silently while turning the bouquet over and over in his hands. Finally he stood, nodding to himself with an unspoken decision, and discarded the bundle on the bed behind him as he made his way out the door.

As the two comrades walked across the dock, Spike, a few paces behind Jet, withdrew his hand from his pocket, popping a cranberry he'd plucked from one of the branches into his mouth.

* * *

**Lyrics from Luka Bloom's _Delirious. _Don't sue, my favourite jeans just ripped.**


	67. A Lonely Noise

So.

The next few chapters are going to be rough, man. I'm already dreading it. But I hope you enjoy them. I hope you enjoy this one, too. I might have to do some revising. I was sort of flying through it and I tend to miss quite a few typos and grammar stuff when I do that. And plot and characters and English and…

I love you.

I hope you're still with me.

ssg.x.

* * *

Spike moved through the throngs of people that filled the ballroom of the Cine Gemelo to its capacity, for once rather inconspicuously. It wasn't hard. Everyone around him glittered and clinked as they moved past him, some more garish and intrusive than others. 

In perfect contrast to all the ridiculous feathers, furs, bells and whistles, Ana had shown up wearing a simple black top hovering quietly over a deep, mauve ballgown skirt. Her hair hung straight but was swept clear of her face which was brushed lightly with colour and making its first appearance without glasses. Her neck was adorned with a black choker from which hung a teardrop-shaped, purple gem.

Jet had looked so damn proud of his decision to go with the purple pansies, and Ana seemed equally impressed.

"How'd you know I'd be wearing purple?" she'd asked, letting him pin the arrangement above her heart, hovering just below the neckline of her top. Jet shrugged his shoulders and grinned. True, even Spike could have guessed from their first meeting that if she wasn't going to be wearing black tonight, she'd be wearing purple or blue. They were almost the next closest thing. But he kept his mouth shut and basked in the bit of warmth created out of their modest joys.

They made a nice pair. They looked like a nice, normal couple.

That is until Jet handed Ana their guns while hidden in the shadows of the parking lot across the street so she could strap the weapons to her legs under her skirt in a bid to sneak them past security.

_Normal_ was not going to be the order of the evening.

Spike tried to make out the specifics of different conversations, keeping his antennae up and aimed for the name _Akaido_, but it was pretty damn difficult to focus on anything with all the gold, silver and sequin buzzing by him, all the different voices, the music, the colliding of glasses with eachother and occasionally with the floor. And as much as he didn't want to see Faye tonight, he couldn't help but scan the room more than a couple of times within minutes passing for those eyes or that hair of hers.

His breath caught in his throat and his entire body seemed to seize before his mind even registered that she had entered the room and was standing not fifteen feet away from him.

Spike took several steps back, turning into the nearest cluster of people and weaving his way in an arc that took him full-circle around her. Her dress was jade, which he wasn't expecting. For some reason he imagined she'd be wearing red. In actual fact he was thinking of the red dress from long ago that he remembered clearer now for some reason than two hours after he'd first seen her in it.

This dress had a full skirt that fell below her knees and he could see two dark shoes with little heels encasing her small feet and delicate ankles as he circled her. Her hair was down, trimmed around her face but not as bluntly as before. He wasn't sure if it was the lighting or his eyes playing tricks on him but her hair appeared darker. He couldn't make out any of the violet he'd become used to. Her lips were dark and rose-coloured and her eyes seemed so bright and soft. She looked more like the girl from the video than the woman from the Bebop.

The photographers in attendance seemed to spot her only heartbeats after he did. In a moment she was bathed in the flashes of their cameras. Her green eyes gleamed like the light was coming from somewhere inside her. Roscoe stood firmly beside her, looking as uncomfortable with the attention as she did. She shone and shivered like a snowflake and was fast melting in their wake.

He saw her hand wrapped carefully and protectively in Roscoe's and for a moment he felt hot and dizzy. Roscoe was a good-looking guy. Spike couldn't argue that. He also wore a tuxedo but you could tell by the way Roscoe moved that he was much more accustomed to this sort of thing. He looked elegant. He looked like someone who deserved to have Faye on his arm.

_I have to stop this._

Spike wondered how and if he should make a move to approach her. He suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder, the unfamiliar ripples of female breath and sound in his ear.

"You're looking for Akaido."

Spike's eyes shifted and he could see the dark, moving lips and eyes of a woman standing at his shoulder. Something about the lips, the eyes distinguishingly blue and striking.

Julia. She reminded him of Julia.

Well, except for the light spray of freckles across her nose.

And her hair was red.

"You won't find him here. He doesn't come to these things." She moved in a small, slow circle, looping around to Spike's other shoulder. Several long, red locks of hair veiled her eyes, preventing him from figuring out what her game was too soon. She seemed to hum between her words. The simplest movements were fluid like a dancer's beneath the long and dark red, velvet frock she wore.

"Doesn't like shrimp cocktail either, huh?" Spike replied casually. Yes, she was gorgeous - like the cover of a pulp crime novel come to life, but the only fascination she held for him right now was her resemblance to Julia and he was able to recognize that. His eyes still followed Faye and Roscoe steadily through the crowd. He wondered if they'd dance together. He wondered what it would be like to dance with a girl. He wondered what it would be like to dance with Faye.

The redhead laughed -- again, so much like Julia. He caught himself shivering, she caught it too and took this as an invitation to run her fingers along his shoulder, catching the firm round of it in her palm, her other hand taking up his wrist. She pulled gently at him. He relented, almost pushed her off him. She grabbed his wrist again, this time with a suspiciously stronger grip.

"Come dance. We'll talk," she insisted.

Spike reluctantly followed her out to the dancefloor. He'd only taken his eyes off of Faye for a second but it was enough time for him to lose her.

* * *

"That's her. I'm sure that's her," Ana watched the red-haired woman lead Spike out to the small, designated dancefloor. Jet sipped his gin and tonic and watched the woman Ana motioned to place her hands on Spike's shoulders and begin to sway, leaning into him confidentially.

Ana tugged at the sleeve of Jet's jacket, "Do you think Spike knows it's her?"

"He'd have to. Spike doesn't dance."

Ana bumped against Jet jokingly, "Do _you_?"

Jet laughed, "You don't strike me as the dancing type."

Ana grinned, "You're kidding me, right? Look at me tonight! I'm doing all sorts of things I'd never do. I'm wearing make-up, I'm appearing in public wearing costume jewellery. It's all just a hop, skip and a jump away from appearing in a Broadway musical. Let's go."

Jet had never danced a day before in his life, but he quickly found it was true what they said. All you really needed was the right partner.

* * *

_She looks like Julia._

Of course it wouldn't escape Faye. The second she'd realized who Spike was to Julia she knew the image of this woman would be branded on the inside of her skull for all time. She would measure herself up against Julia without ever being able to help it. She'd only looked into her eyes for a moment, but Faye remembered that they were bluer than even the sky was that afternoon, stormier than the skies that came later that night. She had memorized the long, elegant lines of Julia's nose and jaw. She'd cursed her own round face and the sharp ends and angles that made up every other part of her.

But Spike. She was most sorry for not being Julia that night because Faye knew he would leave her for that reason alone. She would have loved every last bit of herself if Spike could love it all, too.

And he had for a while.

And here she was now wishing she was someone else again.

She watched them dancing, her heart beating painfully in her chest.

_I can't do this. I left him. _I_ left _him

She spoke Ezekiel's name under her breath over and over again, trying to will herself back to her senses, but when the woman's lips drew closer to Spike's she felt her heart crack in her chest.

And when Spike looked up and caught her standing there in her naked agony, Faye waited only the second it took her to free herself from Roscoe's hand to make a run for it.

* * *

Roscoe, startled by Faye's sudden, fierce jerking, turned and watched as she crashed into guests and waitstaff, running back towards the entrance of the ballroom. He made a move to follow her but someone held him back by the shoulder.

"Message for you, Mr. Calhoun."

Roscoe had barely a second to catch a glimpse of the man who'd slipped him the message before he disappeared into the crowd. He kept walking in the direction Faye had gone, unfolding the slip of paper as he went. On reading the message he stopped dead in his tracks, reading it over again to make sure he hadn't made a mistake.

_As of tonight your services will no longer be needed._

When he looked up, he could already see two men slowly but determinedly advancing on him. His gaze desperately locked on Faye's retreating figure vanishing into the lobby.

_Not yet. Not until I tell her._

* * *

"You were on the ship the other day. What were you looking for?"

"You mean you saw me and you didn't even introduce yourself?" The still unnamed redhead chuckled throatily. Spike rolled his eyes. He was normally at the very least mildly amused by these sort of cat-and-mouse conversations with women but he didn't have the patience for it tonight. He knew he should have thought of a way to get out of this evening when he had the chance.

"So are you here with someone?" She toyed with a lock of his hair at the nape of his neck and he shifted in his jacket uncomfortably.

"Listen, this isn't singles night at the Copacabana, okay? Why were you on the ship? What do you know about Akaido?"

The woman smirked, "I don't know anything about Akaido. I just know he's not here tonight."

Fed up, Spike tried to pull away from her but she held him in place with an iron grip.

"Why are you in such a hurry to get away from me?" she asked, eyes wide with mock confusion, "You aren't afraid of me, are you? Because I don't bite. Not unless I'm paid to." She lowered her voice to a near hush, her lips not even an inch from his. If he only focused on her mouth he could imagine it was Julia's. In this brief but catatonic state, he barely heard her next words, "It's not you I'm after. I'm here for Faye Spector."

When she pulled away, the red hair and the freckles brought him back from his reverie.

_Faye._

In a moment the red-haired woman had disappeared from his side and his eyes found Faye's. She was watching him, had been watching them, eyes soft and sad with a longing he had memories of hating once. If he could see straight into her he thought he'd be able to see her heart breaking. But he didn't have the time to try.

That woman had been sent to kill Faye. And she was going to make a game of it.


	68. You've Fallen In With The Wrong Crowd

Okay.

So I'm going to be the first person to tell you that I can't write action on the back of Lawrence of Arabia's camel with a sabre to my head. So I'm hoping you'll forgive me for that.

Because I love you.

Hope you're all well and warm and happy and fed.

ssg.x.

* * *

Faye's kitten heels slipped their way haphazardly across the marble tile of the hotel lobby, her ankles twisting this way and that painfully beneath her as she made her way to she couldn't be sure where. She just knew she couldn't be here.

She tried to conjure memories of shared things with Ezekiel. She tried to remember his long fingers, the touches that lay in wait behind them, her skin beneath his fingernails. Lips framing his lop-sided grin beneath eyes dark and heavy like caramel. She tried to remember the sound of her name on his tongue. She tried to remember –

What would Spike make of this? How she must have looked…

_Like someone who can't make up her fucking mind._

Well that was accurate, wasn't it?

_No. No, no, no._

_It just caught me off guard, is all. It's just because she looked so much like Julia. It opened up old wounds._

She turned down a corridor, a second corridor, a third and a fourth. She could hear various people shouting behind her, probably just hotel employees, but couldn't make out what they were saying. She was moving too fast.

_If there was someone out there who could love you, you'd kill to be near them. Remember? You said that._

_That's not fucking fair._

_You may never find Ezekiel. He'd be in his seventies by now. He might not remember who you are. He could be dead. It's only a matter of time before you lose Bea, too. What if you end up alone again? You won't have fate to blame this time. This time the loneliness that will find you in later years will be on your own shoulders and you'll have put it there._

She kept turning, ducking through doors, following sets of stairs up, down…The voices in her head seemed to fade further and further away, the clicking of her heels against the hard flooring grew louder.

She stopped.

_Where am I?_

* * *

**Oh, if fortune favours the brave  
I am as poor as they come  
I've got a million things to say  
I've got a million things to…**

* * *

Her eyes moved around her, taking in every corner of the room she found herself in. A warehouse-like area with huge pipes running along the ceiling and walls. A massive, steaming vat was at its centre. Laundry sacks and piles of linen were scattered around her like sand dunes in a desert. She could make out the night sky through steamy windows above her, the light from the moons soft and frosted on her shoulders, on the white sheets hanging and moving slowly from one end of the room to the other on pulleys and cables. Her heart fluttered in her chest every time she caught one of their shadows slipping past her through the corners of her eyes.

"Faye."

Faye whirled around, "I – I'm not feeling well. You don't have to –"

"Faye…don't move. Stay there." She recognized Roscoe's voice despite the ragged breathing, the hushed tones. She could make out his shadow as he weaved through the hanging sheets. She saw him lean over heavily, heard him quietly willing rhythm back to his breathing while only glimpsing a slip of him for seconds at a time as the linens continued to move between them.

"I'm sorry I worried you so much, Roscoe. I'm sorry I ran off. But –"

_Oh, okay. How are you going to explain this to him?_

"Don't talk, Faye."

Faye bit her lip as suddenly and as sharply as his request escaped him.

"We don't have time. I don't have time. I need to tell you something. Don't talk."

Faye moved closer to him, watched his soft, grey eyes lower to the floor. His breathing seemed to stop altogether. She joined him in this effort.

"I've done something stupid. You need to protect yourself. You need to tell Spike."

Faye's hands reached for him, brushing against the partition keeping him from her. She felt his own hands up, fingers outstretched, heat radiating from his skin, despite his pleas.

"Don't get too close. Stay there. Don't move. Please just listen, Faye." His eyes were large and shimmering like they were embossed on the face of a young boy in a velvet painting.

Perhaps if she'd met him first she would have fallen in love with those eyes.

"Protect myself from what? From you?"

A heavy sigh. So much sadness.

"Roscoe, we're friends. You're the only person who's never wanted anything from me. You're the only real friend I've ever made."

She smiled, trying to offer him some of the comfort he'd brought her so many times these past few weeks, "Whatever it is –"

"Faye," Roscoe sobbed hoarsely, "I'm not your friend. Listen. Stop it. I've been helping them. I've been watching you for them. I've been working for them."

Faye's mind reeled. _Working for them? Them who?_

"Roscoe, I don't under—"

Suddenly a second shadow appeared with the force and flash of lightening and thunder combined. Faye lost her footing, stumbling away from the two figures. The first – Roscoe -- now on the ground and being throttled by the second.

"I'll tear your fucking head off –"

"Spike," Faye fumbled past the linens and was on him in a minute trying to pry his fingers from around Roscoe's throat. "Spike! Stop it! SPIKE!"

Spike's eyes looked like blanks beneath his dark bangs. They narrowed to slits as he put more pressure on Roscoe's larynx with his two thumbs. Roscoe seemed barely conscious, his eyes staring at something not even in this world. Spike didn't flinch, even when Faye sunk her teeth into his shoulder in a last-ditch effort to stop him.

His gun came out to his side at the end of a long, powerful arm, catching Faye off-guard as it grazed her temple.

"Don't stop me. Are you fucking deaf? Did you hear any of what he said?"

Faye didn't speak. His eyes weren't on hers as he spoke. He stroked Roscoe's adam's apple menacingly with one thumb. The hand that held the gun was shaking.

"Don't fucking stop me."

"I want to hear what he has to say. There's an explanation. Please, Spike. He's my friend."

"_What the fuck's the matter with you?_" He suddenly roared. "Didn't you ever have _any_ friends? This isn't what friends do! _Fuck, Faye_ –" The gun moved rhythmically against her head as he used it to punctuate his words. Faye began to tremble.

"If you can be this fucking naïve, Faye, I might as well kill you now because there's no fucking way you're going to survive in this universe thinking bastards like this are your friends."

Faye thought the trembling was caused by fear. It only took seconds for her to realize it was anger bubbling up inside her. _Always the fucking cowboy. Always the fucking hero._

Fuck him.

"You can call me whatever the hell you want, Spiegel. All I know is if you don't get your hands off him so I can get some fucking answers I'm going to tear you apart with my teeth and nails. Now get that gun out of my face before I take out your other eye, you fucking cyclops."

Spike, completely shell-shocked, loosened his grip around Roscoe's neck. His handle on the gun slowly slipped aswell and Faye grabbed it up into her palm by its barrel. She held the gun to her side as she stood to her feet, wobbling on a weakened ankle to see if Roscoe was okay.

"Can you breathe?" She asked, motioning with the gun for Spike to get off of his chest. Spike, still not entirely sure what had just happened, crouched beside Roscoe's head, leaning close to hear him speak.

"Yes," Roscoe's lips moved but only a creak of his vocal chords alerted them that his voice box hadn't been completely crushed. Faye swept his hair away from his forehead, untied his tie nimbly with one hand and unbuttoned the top couple of buttons of his shirt.

"Is there anything you need? Do you need some water?" She asked gently.

"No."

"Good," Faye brought the gun back from her side, tiltingRoscoe's head back with a savage grip on his hair before pressing the barrel to the underside of his jaw.

"…then we can get started now."

* * *

**Lyrics from Editors' _Lights_. Don't sue, please. Please?**


	69. It's The Volume That I Can't Stand

So.

I've been a little under the weather, but it's always a good excuse to shirk my responsibilities of day-to-day life and post some writing. :)

I'm going to do some pimping this time 'round. The wonderful Brigidforest has created the loveliest of layouts for our new livejournal community. I'm going to be doing some serious revising and archiving of all the chapters, posting up lyrics, music, etc. And I'm hoping we can have some discussions about all sorts of things. Bebop fanworks of all sorts (not just leadbelly…for obvious reasons…we wouldn't last a month pulling shit like that) and Bebop as an amazing series in general. If you're interested, you can find the link through my profile page… we'll chat soon?

Oh, yes, I hope so…

You know. Because I love you.

ssg.x.

* * *

**You'll soon be dust  
****Your deeds already are  
You saw no orb  
****No fiery bushes either  
And I must be drunk  
I feel unsteady  
No monster me  
****Sadly no saint either **

* * *

Faye bore down on her knees, one pushing mercilessly into Roscoe's chest, the other against the cold, stone floor of the hotel laundry room. Spike watched silently as she leaned in close enough to Roscoe's face to make him uncomfortable. If he didn't know better, he would have thought she was going to kiss him. Roscoe licked his parched lips, a groan escaping him as Faye pulled ferociously at his hair, twisting his head to look her in the eye.

"Talk," Faye's voice came out a guttural, animal-like sound, contrasting her appearance. The skirt of her dress and the layers beneath it looked gauzy and ethereal in the strange frosted light from the moons hovering above them.

Spike watched the hand that held the gun to Roscoe's jaw as it shook. He'd seen Faye handle a gun a dozen times and had always marvelled at how steady she was. It was Spike's experience that women weren't usually very good with guns. Probably because they were so goddamned emotional. But Faye – Faye could hold a gun. But then Faye had always struck him as a tomboy. With extra emphasis on the _boy_. She wasn't a crackshot and if Jet didn't know it, Spike did. She usually fired as many rounds as she could to get the job done. Sort of like a boy playing cowboy. _Bangbangbangbangbang. You're dead._ She made a lot of noise but she very rarely hit her mark with the first bullet.

Tonight Faye looked like she'd never held a gun before in her life. And there was a look in her eyes. It was the same look she'd had just before she'd passed out in Roscoe's apartment. Like she was lost.

She was changing before his eyes -- into _what_? He wasn't entirely sure. He wondered if there'd be any Faye Valentine left in her when this was all done. He wondered if it mattered. If it even made a difference.

Because this girl in front of him, this child playing adult games, this prom queen breaking open before his eyes, losing her sanity, losing herself…

_Fuck._

"Fuck…"

He loved her.

It was the first time since he'd found out about Ezekiel's death that he considered telling her despite the voice in his head screaming its objections.

_I can take care of her. I'll hold her together…_

"I don't know very much…" Roscoe whispered, his voice wired up to hysteria, "You don't need the gun. I want to tell you. That's why I followed you. I don't have much time."

Faye pressed the gun forward causing Roscoe to gasp, "You're fucking right you don't."

Spike broke out of his reverie, his attention refocusing on Roscoe and his desire to rip the bastard's eyes from their sockets.

"Who's_ them_?"

"I don't know. I don't know who's in charge of any of this. I don't know…Please, Faye. Let me tell you what I know," he moaned, "There's no time for all this. Don't interrupt..." Spike watched as Faye relieved some of the pressure she was putting on Roscoe's chest with her knee. Spike's muscles tensed in response. She might be thinking about taking it easy on the son of a bitch, but Spike had no intentions of following suit.

"Go. Talk then," she said quietly. She kept the gun at his jaw. Roscoe exhaled heavily.

"They give me discs. These discs. Some of them have music on them. Some of them have old television footage on them. News stuff, different things…" Roscoe's eyes rolled off to the side desperately, trying futilely to see behind him as though he were expecting someone to suddenly show up. Spike stood and tried to keep one eye on the doors they'd entered from.

"Music? What sort of music? Go faster." Faye yanked at Roscoe's hair again, trying to shake answers from him.

"Nadsat. Ezekiel's old band. That night you passed out…there was music playing. Did you hear it?"

_Yes_.

"Yes," Spike said aloud. Roscoe and Faye both looked across at him. "I remember music playing. I thought I'd imagined it."

Lost in the memory, Spike found himself singing the tune to himself. Faye seemed mesmerized by the sound of his voice. Her eyes, the size of saucers, brimmed beneath long, dark bangs. They drew the sights and sounds of that evening so staunchly into the foreground of Spike's mind that he began to feel his knees buckling beneath him. The flames that licked at his ribs that night, that sparked every last neuron in his head as he'd finally come back to life inside of her. It all came back with the force of a hurricane.

_Think of her…every day…think of her…_

"_I've never seen you before. Let me look for a bit."_

…_it doesn't help me…_

"I was supposed to play the music for you…play the footage. I don't know why. I think it's to help you remember stuff from your past."

"My past?" Faye unclenched her fist, releasing Roscoe's head from her grasp as she brought a hand to her mouth. "Is this about my father? Does this have something to do with my father?"

Faye slowly climbed off of his torso, letting him sit up. Spike thought about trying to take his gun back from Faye. He didn't like how close Roscoe was getting to her. He wasn't sure if it was the risk of danger Roscoe's proximity brought to Faye or the strange emotional connection they seemed to share that made him want to blow Roscoe's handsome face clean off his skull.

"No. I mean I don't know. But I don't think so. I don't think it's you they want. The music, the footage…it's all about _him_. The apartment…you'll find the discs there…The mattress. And then you need to find somewhere to go. Your sister, they know about her…And Ana…You need to be careful. Don't trust anyone. Please…You can save yourself. They're not after you. They want _him_. They're trying to find _him_."

"I…I don't want to believe you but…" Faye stumbled over the words. Her eyes focused and unfocused on the hand that held Spike's Jericho.

Roscoe's hands reached up, bravely clasping her two thin arms between them, his eyes entreating her to believe what he was saying. Faye leaned into him, her breath coming hard and fast through her parted lips. She was forgiving him. _She was forgiving him._

_Women…_

_So goddamned fucking emotional…_

Spike suddenly felt as though each of his internal organs were detonating at once. And his brain was clearly the first one to go because he knew it was crazy. _Fucking crazy._ Thinking about this kind of shit at a time like this. But Roscoe's hands on Faye, Roscoe touching her with an intimacy Spike hadn't even been able to achieve comfortably until long after they'd slept together that first time…

His fists clenched at his sides, imagining bone powdering within their confines, as he turned to advance on Roscoe. Spike paused mid-step.

_Him who?_

"It's not you, Faye. _It's_ _him they want_."

_Ezekiel…?_

_Ezekiel's dead._

"Ezekiel…" Faye said softly, meaningfully. Spike watched her face raise towards Roscoe's, but instead of once again meeting his desperate gaze, those grey eyes she seemed to seek comfort in even now, she found herself having to close her eyes against a thick spray of blood. Roscoe fell forward into her lap, his hands tightening and spasming around her slight arms.

The fingers of one hand reached up and, almost reflexively, brushed some of the blood and some of her hair clear from her eyes. He seemed to sigh, satisfied with himself. Spike watched Faye press her lips together as though to taste the blood that dotted the corners of her mouth.

Spike moved quickly, freeing Faye's arms from Roscoe and recovering his Jericho before throwing his body on top of hers as he heard a second bullet, a third bullet, buzz by them, whipping the white bed sheets that surrounded them into a frenzy.

Faye's eyes never left Roscoe's. Even trapped between the wall of bone and muscle that composed Spike's chest and the unyielding stone beneath them, her hand reached out for his. She held fast to Roscoe's outstretched fingers and moaned as though the bullet had passed through her own flesh and tissue. He watched as an all too familiar script played out before him.

Her eyes welled then spilled as the blood, too much blood for one person to lose, crawled towards them across the cold floor. Roscoe's eyes focused on Faye's for only moments longer.

Any strength left in the last seconds of his life left him through his hand. The one that connected him to Faye.

"No, no, no…I'm sorry I hurt…" Faye shifted beneath Spike, finding just enough give against him to bring Roscoe's warm and slippery fingers to her lips.

And then Spike braced himself for the howl.

You can't really prepare for it unless you know what you're in for.

* * *

**Lyrics from New Fast Automatic Daffodils' Stockholm were used…Don't sue…**


	70. Start Another Fire, Watch It Slowly Die

So.

I hope you're all having good holidays so far. Predictably I've got a cold, like I've had for the past four years during this special season! But it's not all bad because it means I get to catch up on some fanfic writing. Hope you enjoy the new chapter and that you get a good rest from whatever ails you.

I love you.

ssg.x.

* * *

**I need two hearts  
One to breathe with  
And one to give away  
And one to breathe with. **

**And I need two lives  
One to get right  
And one to make mistakes  
And one to get right.**

* * *

"I've never watched someone die like this before…" Her voice was so small and quiet. So far away. Spike wondered how he'd be able to bring her back down to him time and time again. 

"Don't think about that right now. Faye --"

"His eyes…it's like they were never real. It's like they're glass. Like someone took out his eyes and replaced them with marbles or --"

"Stop looking, for fuck's sake!" Spike shouted, losing his patience and pressing her head between one hand and the barrel of the gun he held against his other. He yanked her jaw towards him urgently and instructed sternly, almost shaking her, "Don't fall apart on me right now, okay? I need you to stay with me until I can get you somewhere safe. Now's not a good time to lose your mind."

Faye sniffled and brought Roscoe's fingers to her lips one last time before focusing on Spike again. She gingerly placed his hand on the floor and sighed shakily, the last tremors of her earlier cries left her shivering but sober.

"The shots were coming from the direction of the door. Whoever was shooting is gone now," she muttered to herself. "Get off of me," she added, wriggling out from under him. Spike felt like she may as well have just kicked him in the sack, the pain in his heart from either her elbow or her words momentarily captured his breath and held it in a bubble in his throat. He was having a difficult enough time trying to emotionally detach himself from this place he found himself in now, a place where questions like "was Faye sleeping with Roscoe?" waited in the dark to plague him. Selfishly, ridiculously, he'd watched Roscoe die and the only thought in his head had been that Faye must have harboured feelings for him, must have cared for him.

Her eyes…he'd only seen that particular species of sadness in them once before. The day he'd left her standing in the corridor before he went off to meet Vicious.

_She loved me then. I think she loved me then._

He wondered if she'd screamed for Spike the way she screamed for Roscoe's soul. Spike never could have left that scream. He wondered where he'd be right now or rather where _they'd_ be right now if she'd only called out to him that day the way she'd called to Roscoe; her fingers clutching his against her lips, her cheek…

_God, her face._

That face…

_It's all about timing, isn't it?_

Roscoe's blood coated Faye's face and dress front like Pollock's _Lavender Mist. _

Faye moved completely away from Spike, seeming to become less and less lucid as the seconds passed. The distance between them made Spike shiver inwardly. His head processed that Faye was probably right. Whoever had been shooting had probably found their target. It was Roscoe that they'd been after. But his heart and the place where memories are born and laid to rest inside of him told him not to let Faye move too far away from him.

_The redhead._ Where had she gone?

"Faye –" Spike's hand reached out and closed around Faye's wrist. The gesture caught Faye off guard and Spike saw her shoulders jump involuntarily. "Stay close. There's someone here to take care of you, too."

"Roscoe said it isn't me they're after." He saw her make a point of staring at the ceiling to avoid casting her gaze in the direction of the body at the mention of Roscoe's name.

"You can't trust anything he's said, Faye. He was working for them. He was assigned to make sure you stayed accessible to them," Spike sighed, squeezing her wrist less than gently when he felt her trying to extricate herself from his grip. _Them, them, them. Who the fuck is 'them'?_ Faye lifted the hem of her dress up with her other hand and looked at it disdainfully. Roscoe's blood was spotted all across it, almost as dark as ink, rusty where it already began to dry.

"He wasn't lying," she said firmly, "Let go of me, please."

"No offense but I'm not going to trust your perception of what's what right now. And I'd sooner go for a dip in that vat of boiling water back there than let go of you right now so stop fighting it." Spike's eyes were on hers but his ears were open and receptive to every little sound hiding within the shadows that surrounded them. Faye's eyes burned inside her head.

"_He wasn't lying_," Faye reiterated. "You didn't know a fucking thing about him. I knew him. I know I knew him a helluva lot better than I ever knew _you_."

"What was there to know?" Spike hissed, "He was a man. A man who probably jerked off at night in his bed a wall away from yours thinking about ways to get into those pyjamas of his you were wearing. Haven't you learned anything? He'd tell you whatever he had to, to get a piece. Remember that ex of yours? Great guy, that one. Did he have time to fuck you before he ran off and left you sitting in a sinkhole of debt?"

Okay, maybe he wasn't as angry that she was ready to trust every last word Roscoe had said to her as he was that it was sounding more and more like something had happened between them. Maybe the words out of his mouth weren't meant for arguing his case as much as they were meant to hurt her.

Faye snaked her wrist this way and that, trying to get loose but Spike's fingers seemed fused to her flesh.

"I know what this is about! You're afraid! You heard what Roscoe said! They're after Ezekiel! Ezekiel is alive! _Ezekiel's alive…_" Faye's eyes glowed and a smile grew across her blood-spattered face. She suddenly sobbed and laughed at the same time. The sound was like a bullet striking his heart. He'd never seen her look so elated. So hysterical with joy.

Her wrist slipped from his fingers. She practically danced away from him.

"You're angry because you know he's alive and I won't have to…" Faye's voice trailed off. She watched Spike breathlessly, still beautiful in that death shroud she wore, strands of hair matted against her face with blood and tears.

Spike's tongue seemed to swell inside his mouth. He encouraged her hoarsely, knowing her answer but needing to hear it out loud, "Won't have to _what_?"

Faye looked away from him, towards the windows. It was quiet but for the sounds of the machines, the sheets swaying to and fro around them, prompted by their breath and movements.

"Won't have to go back to you. Won't have to come to you for comfort or…" she looked back over her shoulder at him. Her eyes only barely meeting his.

"It's just you look so much like him," she said.

* * *

**I held your hair  
When you were drunk  
I held your hand when you had fever  
But all this counts  
For nothing now  
I made you hate me and then leave  
**

**And all that's left  
Is to grow old  
Grow old and hate your younger self  
And fool yourself  
When you pretend  
That you know more than you did then  
**

**And tears go dry  
And bodies fail  
And stronger hearts than mine lie empty**

* * *

Faye listened for his footsteps. She heard them fading off into the background, presumably out the doors they'd come in from. 

_Good_, she thought to herself. But she started to cry anyways.

She'd never be able to find out what happened to Ezekiel if Spike was around. He was too distracting. Too powerful a reason to drop this whole search. She needed him out. She'd thought if she could only hurt his pride, then that would be enough. But he'd changed so much. Hurting his pride wasn't as easy as it had been in the past. She had to hurt his heart.

With those cutting last words, she'd done what no one had been able to do in the past. She'd completely leveled him. She'd destroyed him. She'd annihilated Spike Spiegel. Not just from her life, but from the look on his face, for all time.

_Jesus_, she thought to herself.

She tried to tell herself that it was for both their own good. She needed to discover her past and find out who she was. Ezekiel was alive out there somewhere. She needed to find him. He once knew who she was better than anyone else in the universe. He'd have all the answers she needed.

And he'd loved her. If she could warm her hands by that for just a little while – even if he was married with grandkids and great grandkids – it would give her the strength to get off this fucking merry-go-round of self-doubt, self-loathing, self-deprecation. Who knows what she could do then. Could she become one of those Sunday shoppers she always envied when she and Jet took a trip into town for groceries? Could she become any one of the number of wives and mothers walking alongside their husbands and children to and from church or the market or one of the local family eateries?

God only knew. But maybe Ezekiel knew, too.

_I have to find him. And Spike can't know._

_I do love Spike._

_I love him._

"I love him," she whispered aloud. When she said it she felt vocal chords vibrate in her throat with the same violent misery she felt watching Roscoe die. She tried to suppress the sounds escaping her. The wave rising inside her constricted her breathing, she tasted its salt on her lips.

She whirled around, ready to bolt in the direction he had left her, maybe ready to scream his name. She wasn't sure.

But something hit her hard in the chest, knocking her clear onto her back. Her skull struck the hard floor and she saw stars. She wondered if she'd been shot.

"_You bitch_…" The words were buzzing in her head. She felt her wrists lay flat and awkward beside her head beneath a great force.

Like so many men before her, Faye found out the hard way that she'd missed her mark.

Spike leaned forward and growled into her ear more beast than man, "You're a lying bitch. _I know you love me_. I know it like I know Ezekiel is dead. Ed and I found his death certificate, you hear me? _He's fucking dead_. And one day you'll be dead, too, and I'll have my peace back."

* * *

**+Lyrics from Ballboy's _I Need Two Hearts_ and _Stronger Hearts Than Mine Lie Empty_. Don't sue, please?**


	71. Promise Heaven Tastes Like This

So.

There was a wait and I'm sorry for it. I was into some sticky stuff but I'm back now and I hope you're still here with me. Hopefully this is the first in a series of prompt updates. It's the very least I owe you.

Because I love you.

ssg.x.

**

* * *

**

**Soleil  
****All over you  
****Warm sun  
****Pours over me**

* * *

"It won't feel that different." 

"What? Like, ten years from now?"

"Twenty, thirty…fifty years from now."

"Fifty?"

"I can see us lying this way together fifty years from now. Old and grey and still thinking about no one but ourselves. Nothing beyond this bed," Faye murmured dreamily.

"Well. Not _this_ bed. It's technically still your parents' bed."

"Shh…you're ruining it," Faye smiled, emerging from the fog of her daydreams. Her fingers lazily danced across his chest, traced the lines of his abdomen. She toyed with the edging of the cotton sheet and quilt that they'd wrapped themselves in.

"Oh…sorry," Ezekiel whispered, stroking her hair, her shoulder. "Maybe your parents will leave it to us."

"_Shh!" _Faye insisted irately.

Ezekiel laughed, then stopped abruptly, sitting bolt upright. A wave of cold air hit Faye hard as the covers were swept from her naked frame.

"Shit! I think I hear you parents!" he whispered tensely.

Faye was sure her heart had stopped. She froze and stared at Ezekiel, instantly causing his mortified expression to melt, a grin accommodating a burst of laughter.

"You didn't just wet the bed did you?" he asked.

Faye's fist came out and punched him hard in the ribs. Ezekiel fell back against the pile of pillows behind them, still laughing.

"You're such an asshole," she said, smirking.

"You should probably start learning how to adjust to that. Fifty years is a long time."

Faye smiled. She settled back against him. She tried to cover herself up again but his hand found hers, closing around it.

He thought about how small and delicate her fingers were in comparison to his own long and calloused ones. He tried to impress upon his mind the dimensions of her ring finger so that when the time finally came, he'd get it right.

She thought about fifty years from now. So far away. She hoped it would take its time.

* * *

**Take me internally**

**Forever yours**

**Nocturnal me**

* * *

_I'm only as strong as you make me._

_Make me…_

…_strong_

_please…_

_Ezekiel…_

…_Spike…_

Faye groaned as she raised herself onto her elbows, the pain winding about her spine to her skull like chandelier wiring to the ceiling. And the lights came on in her head, shining brighter than they had in weeks.

Spike drew back breathlessly. His eyes were glittering, his heart writhing in his chest, brain finally catching up to the action.

Earlier this evening, Spike had worried enough about her reaction to this devastating piece of information that he kept it from her. But all those concerns had flown out the window the way the air had been stolen from her that day fifty-some-odd years ago, leaving her lungs collapsed and her heart shattered. Tonight the news of Ezekiel's death seemed to affect her body no differently than the accident had that day. She couldn't get enough air into her lungs. Her heart was a cold, useless lump in her chest that Spike had crushed between his hands.

He was a selfish son of a bitch. He wanted her to belong to him in any state, raving or ravaged, he didn't give a shit. He'd gotten Julia back in a bag. He'd get Faye back in a straightjacket. But he'd have them. Spike Spiegel always got the girl.

Her shin came up smartly and cruelly between his legs and every muscle in her body tensed with the force of the action. It was great enough that Spike's air caught in his throat quite audibly. He grunted as he fell onto his side at her feet and she recovered herself quickly, standing by his head and bringing her foot down fiercely, catching his neck beneath her shoe. She pressed forward on her heel as she dipped down to catch the hem of his jacket, holding it aside with one hand while she reclaimed his Jericho with the other.

"You want to fight? Don't fight me like a fucking coward, then. Where's your fucking self-respect? Come on! Get up!" Her ankle rolled so that her heel dug nicely into the side of his neck. She'd nearly forgotten how good it felt to dent and mark someone's flesh this way. She wasn't surprised to hear Spike chuckling throatily beneath her.

"Oh, _there_ she is. I thought we'd lost you," he ground out sarcastically, gasping as she pushed harder and harder into his jugular with each peal of laughter. "And you should talk about cowardice. Kicking a guy in the groin? Is this amateur hour?"

"How long have you known about Ezekiel?" she demanded.

"A few days now, I guess."

"Did you know the last time we…?"

"What? The last time we fucked?"

"_Shut it_!" Faye warned, garnering another gasp with another swift tensing of her muscles.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to offend your sensibilities."

"_Did you know?_" Faye shouted.

Spike's eyes flickered up towards her. He said nothing.

"Get up! You want a fight? Then get the fuck up and we'll settle this! I'll even give you your gun back --" she abruptly released him and backed away, her arm outstretched to offer him back his gun. Spike stood, brushing off his trousers and jacket, a gesture so Spike-like Faye felt some of the lividity escaping through her pores.

They glared coolly at eachother, slowly beginning to turn in a circle as though mapping out the parameters of a battlefield.

"I don't need the gun. You're still just a girl, after all."

"I can smell someone trying to stall a mile away, asshole."

"I think that's Roscoe's blood you're smelling. You're covered in it."

"It doesn't smell like Roscoe. I've been close enough to him to know."

Spike bristled visibly, but recovered in a second, "I'll bet you have. Did you guys accidentally crawl into the same pyjamas one night?"

"Is that the excuse you gave Vicious when he found you and Julia out?"

"You don't know anything about that."

"I don't have to. Don't those stories always start with a girl? You're such a fucking cliché, Spiegel."

"Yeah. _I'm_ the cliché. You're one catholic school girl uniform away from a trashy teen novel. Don't get too close, Valentine. You know what happens to you when you get too close to me. I'm your monster. I'm your beast. You hate me so much you'll ride us both to hell, huh? Girls like you always fall for the bad guys. Did Ezekiel have a bit of the demon in him, too?"

Spike boldly approached her, moving close enough that their chests were touching. The smell of blood filled his nostrils, the juices in his mouth thickened, encouraged by the sickening taste of rust settling on his tongue. He'd never get used to the essence of someone else's blood in his mouth.

Faye looked up at him defiantly, the gun down at her side. Her hand almost came up between them, but she seemed to think better of it, as though the movement would be misconstrued as fear on her part. Spike was unnerved, but she hardly noticed it as she struggled with nerves of her own.

She licked her lips and tightened her grip on the gun.

"It never would have happened if it weren't for Ezekiel. _It wasn't you_."

Spike smiled, "You'll never be able to say it enough times to convince yourself." He began circling her slowly, "After all, it was my name you whispered. You called and I answered. _Inside me, Spike. Inside me_," he mimicked with mock melodramatics. It was meant to hurt Faye, but it felt like he was twisting a blade inside his own belly.

Faye was trembling, too preoccupied with whatever thoughts may have been racing through her head at that moment to hear his voice crackle in his throat as his heart swelled within its confines.

_I've never seen you before. Let me look for a bit._

_I don't want to stop._

_Stay…_

"Julia's dead. And Ezekiel. There's only us left," his voice left him and surrounded them like a stream of steam, hissing and burning, rumbling in his throat. She licked her lips and tossed her chin with implausible bravado, "Never figured you to be the type to settle for being leftovers."

Spike's eyes raised, penetrating hers thoroughly, frighteningly so. His breathing met hers heavy and hard. She could hear him swallow, could see the unnamed emotions careening around the inside of his skull, colouring his eyes, kindling his mania. Her resolve was slowly melting and puddling around her feet.

"There's enough left of me to leave nothing of you," he spoke crisply in her ear. His thumb and forefinger trailed gingerly, menacingly along her spine. Faye seemed to turn and bend in her skin like a bird caught in the palm of a stranger's twitch. She lowered her eyes, her lips parting, the gun swaying at her hip. They were caught in the other's fever.

"If you don't want to find out how…" Spike's jaw set. His eyes narrowed. He bit his lip, let it go, his palm opened against her back to either grant her mercy by setting her free or pull her back to hell with him. "…I suggest you turn around and run. Now."

Spike tried to remember there was a corpse in the room. He tried to distract himself with the smell of death that filled his head and nostrils. He thought about how at any moment a bullet could find one or both of them. He conjured any image, scent or sound he could to keep his hands and mind occupied but the powerful, unprincipled creature she awoke inside him only wished to tear into her now with fangs and fingers.

Nothing could stop it.

Faye didn't dare try.

* * *

**Lyrics from Badly Drawn Boy's _The Shining_ and Echo & The Bunnymen's _Nocturnal Me_. Don't sue, please.**


	72. Sunrise Like A Nosebleed

How've you been, my friend? Long time, no see…

I've missed you.

I love you and hope you are well.

ssg.x.

* * *

**Like a needle needs a vein  
Like someone to blame  
Like a thought unchained  
Like a runaway train  
I need your love****

* * *

**

In his dreams she's rising from her seat like a spirit from her tomb every night in his head. Her hands, fingers are outstretched, reaching desperately for the fasteners but it's too late. She's already floating too far above and her hands search for the ceiling of the ship instead. She just wants to stop moving.

A bubble of blood escapes her nostril. And then another. They begin to slip from her throat when she tries to scream. There's never any sound in these dreams.

Faye's fingers clutch at her chest moments before it breaks open like a dollhouse. Inside he sees a girl swinging to and fro on a swing. There's a sun glowing fiercely where Faye's heart was only a moment before.

That's sort of how he continued to live his life. Shut out from the sun, left alone in the darkness with a biblical weeping and gnashing of teeth. The girl on the swing never aged and he found himself getting older and older as the days passed, taking him farther and farther away from her. So far away now that he couldn't see her properly anymore for the distance.

The dream ends the same way, too. Every night he tries to reach out for the girl on the swing and every night Faye slams the door to her heart closed, almost catching his finger in it. Ezekiel is sorry it doesn't.

The smell of grass, earth and sky are strong this afternoon. It rained last night, making everything smell fresh, making him dizzy. All he thinks about on days like these is lying beside her in the park that evening he first joined his soul to hers. He inhales deeply and when the first fistfuls of dirt, one from his own hand and the other from Angela's mother, hit her coffin below with a dull thud, he can't hear for the sounds of Faye's moans in his head. The tears that fall, the sobs that escape him, aren't for his wife. They're all for himself.

When Angela's mother reaches for his arm, draws him close to her, cries into the sleeve of his jacket, he's too caught up in his own misery to push her away and too polite to tell the older woman that he didn't give a shit about her daughter, that he'd only married her to keep the media off his back, and that he was glad she was gone and that he was alone again.

Ezekiel looks across the tear in the earth at Jimmy. Nora is on his arm. They'd started seeing eachother shortly after the divorce proceedings.

Jimmy watches Ezekiel with a scornful and incredulous smirk on his face. He knows Ezekiel's show of emotion has nothing to do with putting his wife into the ground. Until a couple of years ago they'd been best friends. There was a time Ezekiel and Jimmy knew eachother better than they knew even themselves. But that was long ago, on a different planet. The friendship began to sour when Jimmy expressed his disdain at the way Ezekiel treated Nora during their brief courtship and marriage. Spending more and more time comforting her, he began to sympathize less and less with his old friend.

Nora watches Ezekiel try to hold himself together. She, too, knows who he cries for. But she finds she loves him still and tries to shake the unwelcomed feelings from her heart like rain from her hair. She leans into the strong arm James supports her with and continues willing away the desire to comfort Ezekiel. If James knew she harboured no real ill will towards Ezekiel, that she cared for him even after all he'd done to her…Well, she wasn't entirely sure James wouldn't run over there right now and try to bury Ezekiel alive beside his wife.

Ezekiel pulls his wedding band from his pocket, tossing it over the shoulder of his mother-in-law, hearing it strike the lid of Angela's coffin before bouncing into the darkness below it. The smell of earth arouses his senses. Heady with the memory of being inside Faye, pain and exultation coursing through his veins, igniting his agony, he pushes the old woman in his arms aside, freeing himself from her misplaced sympathy, and falls to his knees.

"How long are you going to make me do this without you?" Ezekiel screams, his voice leaping from his throat like a rabid animal snapped free from its coils. He sobs and furtively grabs up fistfuls of grass and earth, pressing his face into them, trying to conjure strong enough memories to swallow him up and take him from this place. The other mourners look on at a complete and collective loss. He sighs, exhausted from his efforts, and leans his head against the defiled ground beneath him.

Ezekiel can't seem to catch his breath. He finds he can't lift his head or even move his arms. The sights and sounds that surround him seem to melt into a puddle around his knees but he doesn't begin to panic until the girl on the swing stumbles from her perch and disappears from his mind's eye in one fell swoop.

Ezekiel is unconscious when the ambulance arrives, and blue as the heavens above.

* * *

**Lyrics from U2's _Hawkmoon 269_ are used in both the summary and chapter. Don't sue.**


	73. Sometimes Stranger To A Kiss

**Well I don't know why but I just feel like dancing  
I can't imagine why but I feel like dancing  
And there is nothing in this world  
That I'd like better than a twirl across your rickety old floor**

* * *

_Shit, shit, shit…_

Jet felt like a guy who's just discovered he's lost his children at the park after waking from a nap on a nearby bench. He'd lost sight of Spike. Faye was gone, too.

One of the most appealing things about Ana was the island she invited him on whenever they were together. She had so many things to say - clever things, funny things, sad things – and easily distracted him from the stress of the past few weeks with this talent.

She was so human. So normal. She didn't hatch from an egg like Faye, or trail blood behind her wherever she went like Spike. She'd grown up with a mother and father, gone to school like any other kid, graduated, got a job and an apartment. It was mind boggling that Jet found such normalcy to be so unsettling at first. What had he become over the years?

And now he found it welcomed and comfortable. He found himself drawn to this ordinary little world she lived in. The last time he'd been to Normal was so long ago. He hadn't realized how much he missed it. She'd whetted his appetite.

She'd also made him forget himself and his reasons for being here tonight. They'd been dancing, moving clumsily across the floor, laughing out loud and sighing contentedly into the other's beating heart.

For a minute or two on realizing his two comrades were AWOL Jet refused to panic, resting his chin against Ana's dark, fragrant hair afraid to break the spell. He figured that Spike and Faye were probably just off putting on a show in some other part of the hotel.

Roscoe and the red-haired woman were gone, too, he suddenly noticed. And that's when the sirens went off in his head, bringing him back down to Mars with the force of a powerful undercurrent, drowning him in the drama that for fifteen minutes he'd forgotten was his life.

"Shit, shit, shit…" Jet muttered, turning frantically in circles trying to find the doors leading back to the lobby. Ana calmly took his hand and pulled him along behind her, shoving people whichever way she had to, to accommodate their steady movement towards the doors.

"Excuse me. Yeah, move. Hi! _Move!_ How can someone so goddamned skinny take up so much space? _Excuse us!_ Yeah, fuck you, too. _Out of the way!_" In moments they were standing out in the lobby. Jet couldn't help but observe Ana's take-charge attitude admiringly. She continued to lead him through the thinning crowd as they made their way down a near-empty corridor.

"Do you even know where you're going?" he asked.

"Does it seem like I do?" she said, grinning back over her shoulder at him.

"Yeah, it does actually. Do you?"

"No, I don't. But something about having an assortment of weapons hiding under your skirt really boosts the confidence to improbable levels."

They turned a corner, two, three, with Ana at the helm of the ship and Jet hanging on like a barnacle. Jet was starting to worry they were just getting themselves lost. Somehow managing to sense his anxiety through his mechanical fingers, she smiled back at him and continued sheepishly, "_That_ and we shot a few scenes here for the film so I sort of know my way around."

Jet returned the smile uneasily. Ana squeezed his hand, "Relax, my friend. Sit back and enjoy the ride. Let someone else be the parent for a change."

* * *

**Well, I don't know much about you  
****Not more than a smile or two can say  
****And everything I've learned about you  
****I've learned through the pit of my stomach anyway  
****And I'd forget about you if I could dare but  
****I just want to make love to you in some dark, rainy street somewhere**

* * *

They stood that way for what could have been an eternity but what instead only amounted to a minute or so. The only sound was that of Spike's fingers moving along the stiff, slippery fabric encasing Faye's slight and shaking frame, drawing her closer to his impatient ardour.

He thought about bruising her mouth with his own, winding his fingers into her hair so tightly her lips would part from the ferocity of it, his tongue pushing between them and into her mouth. Her wet and waiting mouth. Only the memory of it caused him to sway where he stood, moaning thickly under his breath.

He'd pull at one of the dozens of clotheslines that made up the spider web that surrounded them here, using the little give it allowed him to tether her wrists together above her head. The hand that wasn't wound in her hair would lift the layers of her skirt up and around her hip, greedily scratch and scrape at the stockings she wore until he could feel the flesh of her around his fingers.

Faye, as was her way, would urge him to slow down.

_Let me look for a bit._

He remembered the first time they were together and how he'd tried his damndest not to look her in the eyes. And now he found he couldn't look anywhere else. A swiftly pressing darkness consumed her green eyes like the sun setting on a forest as her pupils increased in size within them, aroused by the thing he stirred within her. He was drunk from it.

He'd ask her to give him his name, his proper name, while their eyes were on eachother. She'd changed him so completely these past few months. He wondered if he'd ever be Spike Spiegel again.

He imagined the sound of his name fresh from her lips, ringing in his ears, later being both unnerved and roused anew at the sight of the marks he'd doubtlessly leave on her thighs from his fingers gripping and pulling her hips tighter around his.

His lips would graze the line of her neck, suck breath and marrow from the silken valley at the base of her throat. His thoughts rushed ahead of themselves and he was inside her with no steps to retrace how he'd gotten there. The sound of their intermingling breath and the imagined heat hovering around their dizzy heads was all he could know right now.

All these thoughts bolted through his head in a matter of moments, shattered by a sudden explosion of gunfire.

Instinctively, Spike dove for Faye in an attempt to shield her from the bullets. Faye tried to do the same for Spike and the two ended up in a two-way collision, skulls clunking together dully. They fell side by side to the ground in a tangle before bullets separated them rather effectively. Spike scrambled across the floor in one direction, Faye in the other.

When the red-haired woman emerged from behind one of the hundreds of hanging linens, walking rather determinedly towards the pair, Spike reached around his waist and under his jacket for his gun. Before his hand closed around air he remembered that Faye was still in possession of it. He looked ahead at Faye who seemed to read his mind. She carefully hooked her foot around the fallen, nearly-forgotten weapon and pulled it gingerly towards her, hiding it under her skirts while the red-haired woman's attention was on Spike as he spoke to distract her.

"What took you so long?" he asked.

"Oh, I didn't want to interrupt, believe me. From the looks of it, you guys were either going to kill eachother which would give me the rest of the evening off, or I'd get to see a free sex show. Win-win situation if you ask me." She cast a glance in Faye's direction and Spike trembled. He was too far away to be of any use without his gun.

"Don't worry, honey. I was just kidding. As soon as I'm done with your friend here, you'll be free to go. I'm only getting paid for one job tonight," she grinned, her eyes blue and glittering like a cat's.

Spike blinked. Faye's eyes widened in panic.

"I thought you were here for Faye."

"Well, I had to get you out of there, didn't I? I can't kill you in front of a room full people now, can I? That would hardly make me a professional."

Spike's mind was reeling. "What business could you possibly have with me?"

"Don't be stupid," the woman snorted.

"Can't guarantee that," Spike replied. He watched as Faye slowly drew the gun from beneath the folds of her skirt.

_Jesus, hurry the fuck up, Faye!_

What was taking her so long?

He recognized and subsequently dreaded the faraway look in Faye's eyes almost instantly. She seemed to be staring blankly at the weapon in her hands like she'd never seen or held a gun before in her life.

_Shit. She'd been doing so well, too._

"You _are_ Spike Spiegel, are you not?"

_Pull it together, Faye. Shoot the bitch._

"_Wait._ Did we date in highschool?"

"Okay, funny guy -- I need you over there. Hup, hup." The woman motioned with her gun for Spike to move further towards the wall opposite Faye.

Spike backed up, almost falling over Roscoe's corpse. Faye held the gun limply in her hand, finding herself gazing once again at her friend's bloodless body. Spike walked heavily and noisily to the spot the red-haired woman designated for him against the wall, trying to regain Faye's focus. Faye's eyes finally met his, although still a little too fuzzily to put him at any amount of ease.

Spike's eyes flit towards the red-haired woman who, once satisfied with his ability to follow simple instructions, began turning back to check on Faye.

"Faye!" he shouted. Faye raised the gun and fired before the red-haired woman could even register what was happening.

It would have been spectacular if Faye hadn't missed.

Spike felt the bullet lodge itself somewhere in his left shoulder. With a grunt he slumped swiftly towards the ground. Lying in a pile of useless limbs, he managed to lift his head high enough off the floor to see Faye begin to scramble towards him, crying out his name, before the woman raised her own weapon and leveled it at Faye's forehead.

* * *

**Lyrics from The Magnetic Fields' _The Sun Goes Down and the World Goes Dancing_ and The Lowest Of The Low's _Bleed A Little While Tonight _were used. Don't sue.**


	74. The Sky's Gone Out

It's about 1:25 a.m. so I'll keep this short for you:

It's a short chapter but I wanted to get it out there for you. I'm sorry it's short. I feel like I'm ripping you off and I hate that feeling because you deserve better. You've been very patient with me and my bullshit.

But thank you for still reading. Thank you for still reviewing. I wish there was a way I could actually show you how much it means to me. I wish you could see the smile on my face or the glow in my eyes.

Not like a creepy science-fiction glow. I mean like a nice, warm, happy one. You make me so goddamned glad I write this thing.

I love you.

ssg.x.

**

* * *

**

**A hit is hard to resist  
****And I never miss  
****I can take you out  
****With just a flick of my wrist**

**Bow down to me.**

* * *

"_That_ was stupid," the redhaired woman chuckled sourly. 

Seconds passed agonizingly slow for Spike. It was like reliving the eve of Julia's death in slow motion. At the very least, neither Spike nor Julia could have known what was coming. He watched her catch the bullet in her back, watched her falling, hair tumbling after her like the tail of some fantastic, golden comet. Everything happened so fast. All that was left when it was all said and done was dealing with the aftermath. The feelings of self-loathing for letting something like this happen. But he'd come to terms with it. Sort of.

He realized that, no, there was no way he could have stopped that bullet. Not with everything else happening around them. Bullets coming from so many different directions, an unknown number of men blanketed by rain and grey skies, shadows and stone. And all the thoughts and emotions going through his head and heart at the time – no, there was no way he could have prevented it.

This was much worse.

Because this was entirely his fault.

He was only fifteen feet away from her. Fifteen fucking feet.

And he couldn't do a fucking thing to stop this.

He wouldn't be able to save her now.

All he had to do was get Faye the fuck out of there. All he had to do was throw her over his shoulder, kicking and screaming if he had to, and take her somewhere safe. But these past few weeks had left him almost completely without a head on his shoulders.

And as a result of his all-consuming self-interests and fucking abandonment issues, Faye would be completely without a head on her shoulders in a minute or two. And there wasn't a goddamn thing he could do about it now.

Christ, how he hated women.

He reigned in a groan as he tried to shuffle back against the wall to use as leverage in the hopes of getting himself back on his feet. A last-ditch effort to save her. He leaned his uninjured shoulder against the solid concrete and blinked as pain moved through his entire body like a pinball bouncing from connection to connection.

The red-haired woman seemed none-too-concerned with his efforts. She was the one in control of the stopwatch, after all.

"You're an impatient son of a bitch, aren't you, Mr. Spiegel? Don't fret yourself. Your turn will come soon enough," she looked back over her shoulder at him and winked.

"She can go, right? You're not after her. Let me watch her go," Spike made a second attempt at stalling the inevitable, praying that Faye would find herself again and figure out a way to safety, or that Jet might have miraculously been able to tear himself away from his evening of enchantment long enough to realize they were missing. Spike's eyes found their way past the red-haired woman, found Faye's. He couldn't see properly for the sound of his heartbeat filling his skull. "Please," he whispered under his breath, realizing that he wasn't stalling at all. He was pleading for her life. "…Just let me watch her go."

"You misunderstand me, my friend. I've been hired to kill you by my _clients._ But I'm still my own boss. In the end it's still my show." She reached between a slit in the long velvet fabric of her skirt capturing a sleek, silver Ruger in the hand that wasn't already pointing its twin at Faye's head. She aimed the second weapon at Spike's chest. "Last call," she said, addressing the two of them. "Time to settle your tabs."

Spike sighed and closed his eyes about half a second before Faye's eyes finally snapped back into focus.

* * *

"_Just let me watch her go."_

Faye watched his hand lying broken at his side. She couldn't see exactly where he'd been shot for the black fabric of his tuxedo jacket. She remembered the scar of a cigarette burn that lay beneath it. She remembered that same hand, the one that hung dead now from his injured shoulder, closing around her wrist, slipping to grasp her fingers, pressing his palm against hers. Their joined flesh whispering secrets to eachother, speaking a language neither Spike nor Faye would come to understand until only these few months past.

_No._

A clearer thought hadn't entered Faye's mind for the past few hours, days or weeks even. She held onto it with all the strength her mind could muster.

_I'm going to do what you never could._

_I'm going to stay._

_I'm staying._

Faye raised Spike's Jericho and took aim. The redhaired woman grinned, fingers tensing swiftly on both triggers. Faye closed her eyes and inhaled sharply.

* * *

**All the songs that I've sung you  
More often than you know  
You're the love that I've clung to  
More often than I've let it show. **

And I wish you would leave me  
And I wish you would go  
And I wish you didn't need me  
And I wish I didn't love you so

* * *

Spike heard the distinct sound of a bullet entering flesh, the dull thud of a body splitting from its soul as it hit the floor. For several torturous moments he felt a pain he'd never felt before on fire in the pit of his stomach. His lips parted but he couldn't make a sound for the bile burning in his throat. 

He was too lost in his own immediate misery to register the sound of not one, but two guns, hitting the floor almost simultaneously.

The violent ascension from Hell almost killed him as Faye was suddenly on him. The breathing that had come to rule the direction of blood through his veins filled his ears. He suddenly felt her hands on the sides of his head, around his neck, madly gripping his shoulders. He grunted from the throbbing throughout his entire left side and arm as her fingers strained to press him ever closer to her. He resurrected the useless limb just long enough to get it around her waist where it rested limply but ecstatically joined to the other.

Over her shoulder he could see the body of the redhaired woman. A small, clean hole marked her forehead and her dark hair splayed around her pale face. The cold blue eyes resting within now wide and vacant.

Faye sobbed thickly beneath his jaw. Spike grabbed a handful of her dark hair up in his good hand, pressing his face into it. He looked up to where he could only guess the moon hung in its sky. He couldn't see it for the tears in his eyes.

"Thank you," he gasped. "Thank you…"

* * *

**Lyrics used in this chapter from Garbage's _Supervixen _and The Longpig's _On and On._ Don't sue, please…**


	75. Even The Losers Get Lucky Sometimes

So.

Why the crap did this take so long to get posted? I wouldn't stop picking at it. So now it's up here and I can get to the next one. Phew…

Let me know how it turned out, okay?

I love you.

ssg.x.

* * *

**Everything  
****with you and me  
****had to be  
****so political**

* * *

"Well, this was certainly the most interesting date I've been on in a long time."

Jet's eyebrow arched with curiousity, "In a long time?"

"I got chased through the Tharsis entertainment district once by a bunch of waiters and one particularly pissed off maitre d' after my date decided to skip out on our bill."

Ana dangled her legs from the side of the wooden dock, her dark hair framed by a halo made from the same dawn that silhouetted the massive fishing vessel behind them. The fabric of her skirts were gathered around her hips like layers upon layers of sea foam. She reached down to remove one of her shoes, sighing her relief. She held the shoe up into the light and looked across at Jet.

"The things we do to impress you," she chuckled. Jet took the shoe from her, examining it for a moment before tossing it over his shoulder. It noisily landed somewhere in the shadows outside of their little pocket of light. He returned her amused glance and they both laughed.

"The things that impress me about you seem to come more naturally than that," he said, smiling sadly. With his eyes out on the horizon watching the strengthening rays of the sun, he fumbled with his breast pocket, drawing a cigarette out of its carton. He lit it and inhaled intensely. He pressed his other hand against his temple, momentarily distracted from the pretty girl who sat beside him now.

"_They're alright_, Jet. They ended up handling it themselves. You said Spike gets shot up like that all the time," Ana reasoned. Jet shook his head, unconvinced of his lack of fault.

"If Faye hadn't've come to her senses that woman would have killed them both. Spike watched me the whole way home like he was waiting for me to look at him funny so he'd have a good excuse to knock my block off."

Spike had lain across the backseat of Ana's car, across Faye's lap, in complete silence all the way home. Jet wasn't entirely sure of the course of events that had taken place, but when he and Ana finally found them they were huddled together in a corner of the laundry room. He wouldn't have known they were there if it wasn't for Roscoe's body capturing his attention as he and Ana ran in quickly after a succession of empty rooms and corridors. The rich, inky darkness of Roscoe's blood was stark and startling against the whites of the linens, walls and floors.

Spike spotted Jet first. In the past Spike would have merely made a snide remark about Jet's wits and reflexes getting slow with age, but tonight Jet could see the flash of fire in Spike's eyes. Spike's good shoulder twitched against the wall behind them, his leg jerked as though he were making a move to spring at Jet. If he hadn't had his arms around Faye, Jet was certain his comrade would have found a way to climb him and take his head off.

"What happened to your shoulder?"

"Annie-fucking-Oakley here happened," Spike snapped, gesturing to Faye. "So you guys finally showed up, huh? Did a fast song ruin the mood or something?"

Jet ignored the comment and picked Spike up easily and none-too-gently. Ana was looking back at Roscoe, then the red-haired woman. Jet avoided any attempts to read her expression. For the first time tonight, he didn't want to know what Ana was thinking.

"Roscoe…What happened to him?" she whispered.

"He got what he deserved if you ask me," Spike growled in response.

Faye got rather unsteadily to her feet and Jet motioned for Ana to pick up the gun she left behind. Ana held the gun unsurely in her hands as she watched Faye approach Roscoe's corpse. The blood rippled around her shoes and Spike groaned his disgust as she knelt down in it, her fingers resting against her friend's heart as she leaned close to him. Her other hand reached up and softly closed his eyes. She whispered something to him then let her lips fall across his for a moment. She sighed against his mouth before pulling away entirely, his blood running down the fronts of her legs. She followed behind Jet who slung Spike across one shoulder as he walked towards the doors that would lead them back through the maze and away from this place.

Ana was the last to leave the devastation behind them. Jet suddenly felt ashamed of who he was. His back was to Ana and he wouldn't have been altogether surprised if he, Spike, and Faye had gotten to the parking lot and she'd vanished. The three of them must have looked like a fucking freak show.

But she'd stayed by his side the entire night, driven them to Doc's to get the bullet extracted from Spike's shoulder, steadied Faye's hands and drew her a bath.

And now she was trying to convince Jet to no avail that he hadn't fucked up tonight. He reached his mechanical arm out and pulled her across the dock and against him. He had to hope that tonight's thing with Spike would heal itself on its own. He had other things on his mind right now.

"I'm tired," he whispered against the top of her head, flicking the finished cigarette behind him. Ana pulled back slightly.

"You're asking me to stay or go?"

Jet blinked. "Stay. I'm sorry. Is that okay?" he winced. _Too soon, man. Too soon._

Ana shook her head, leaning back into the crook of his arm, relaxing against him like a cat settling in for the night. "Maybe," she said, then added, "Call me a slut but I brought a change of clothes just in case. I'll go get them out of the car."

Yeah. The thing with Spike could wait. If Jet Black had nothing else, he had time.

Though, he guessed now he had Ana, too.

* * *

**Come sail your ships around me  
And burn your bridges down  
We make a little history, baby  
Every time you come around **

We talk about it all night long  
We define our moral ground  
But when I crawl into your arms  
Everything comes tumbling down

**Your face has fallen sad now  
For you know the time is nigh  
When I must remove your wings  
And you, you must try to fly**

**Come loose your dogs upon me  
And let your hair hang down  
You are a little mystery to me  
Every time you come around**

* * *

"Did you mean what you said?"

Spike, despite himself, had fallen asleep waiting for Faye. He wasn't sure what was going to happen when they got back to the ship. He couldn't move much but he was afraid to let her out of his sight for fear she might bolt again. She'd disappeared into the bathroom with Ana to wash up and he'd knelt down by the door, his shoulder still screaming. He knew he was being ridiculous and eventually he decided to just wait in his room, but he felt the need to make sure Faye was staying this time.

"What?"

Faye was standing in his room. The sound of his door moving heavily in its grooves as she pushed it aside had jarred him awake. She stepped into the tiny pool of light his small, circular window allowed him in the early morning. She was wearing a large, white t-shirt he recognized as one of his own and socks that she had to shuffle to walk in without tripping. Ana must have found some of his forgotten clean laundry for her in their dryer.

"Did you mean what you said?" she asked quietly. She rolled her eyes and chuckled, "Annie-fucking-Oakley."

Spike shook his head. "I'm sorry about that. I was pissed off at Jet. Or myself. I didn't mean it."

Faye nodded. Spike looked away. He was at a loss for what to do next. He'd fallen asleep before he could think of what to say to her when she finally came to him.

"I'm sorry. About your shoulder. I can't explain –"

"You don't have to," Spike cut in huskily. He felt his throat constricting as though trying to hold back another violent onslaught of sentiment.

He slowly stood up from the bed, motioning Faye away when she made a move to help him. They stood across from one another, countless emotions bleeding into their features. Faye shrugged her shoulders, exhaling, "Spike. I don't know what to do now."

"You and me both," he said.

_You and me._

Faye reached for the collar of his tuxedo shirt, pulling it back over his good shoulder, carefully removing the sleeve from his injured arm. She pushed deliberately against the muscled plane of his stomach and chest, dragging the hem of his undershirt upwards. He caught her hand beneath his, raising it up the rest of the way, back over his head, capturing her lips with his own beneath the arc of his arms awkwardly twisting above him. He grunted his discomfort but stubbornly kept on her and she untangled his wrists from the shirt, kissing him back. Her mouth opened to his fervour, withstood the heat and intensity of it, welcomed it like air into her lungs.

"…love…"

"…Christ..."

It wasn't just the meeting of their gentler souls that Spike pined for, though it had been long overdue. It was afterwards. It was waking up to daylight without the curse of it on his lips. It was finding out what her favourite song was. It was the time to let his eyes linger on the nape of her neck, the curves of her mouth moved by her soft breaths as she slept, the line of the arch at the base of her spine.

_Time_.

Spike had time and he wasn't sorry for it.

"Say it again. Say you love me," he sat back on his bed, pulling her onto his lap. She tripped in the ridiculously large socks she wore and her shoulder collided with his. He grit his teeth, eyes tearing from the brutal pang throughout his arm and chest. He kissed her mouth despite the hurt, murmuring against her, "You love me."

"I love you," Faye complied. He searched her eyes for the fog from earlier this evening but he could only register the familiar glittering and lucid green of days past. As though she'd read his mind, she whispered again firmly, "_I love you_." She climbed up further into his embrace, encouraging him gingerly back against the mattress. His good arm lay unresponsive beside him. She frowned, resting next to him.

"You don't believe me."

"It's not you. It's my own shit."

"You don't get to have your own shit anymore. You have to share it now," Faye said wryly. Spike sighed, muttering under his breath, "I don't like sharing much."

There was many a time when Faye would complain that she didn't know a thing about Spike. But in reality she'd always known more than was comfortable for him. She understood instantly what he was really talking about, and the smarting of his jab was plainly demonstrated on her face now.

A very oppressive pause fell between them like a like a meteor out of the sky. Like a dead man come back to life.

"You don't get to do that either," Faye whispered. In Spike's mind he was already reaching for her, holding her against him and entreating her with apologies. But only in his mind. His shoulder throbbed to the erratic rhythm of his heart beating and he couldn't move fast enough to keep her here on the bed with him.

She stood, tugging the hem of the t-shirt down around her thighs. She made a point of glaring at him before pulling her socks up and turning out into the corridor. After a delay of about two minutes, Spike leapt after her, cursing under his breath. He knew logically she wasn't going to leave the ship wearing just a shirt and socks but his mind didn't side too much with logic these days. He couldn't remember a time when Faye had, either.

He stepped out into the corridor and found Faye leaning against the wall across from his doorway. Her arms were crossed over her chest. She frowned at him.

"Is this how it's going to be? Is it a turn-on for you or something? We fight, I leave, you chase me…we fight, I leave, you –"

Spike pressed her into the wall with his two hands on her shoulders. His mouth ensnared hers, the collision no gentler than most of their previous kisses. He finally decided he couldn't help that. He was sorry for it, but it was unavoidable. He wasn't capable of the silky words, the poetry and prose or greeting card sentiments he always believed girls and women wanted him to whisper at times like these. He'd always go to Faye the way he put himself to anything else he wanted. With blinders on and gun aimed.

He felt Faye squirming between him and the wall and murmured, "Just kiss me back." It only prompted her to struggle more fiercely. She turned away from him when he wasn't fast enough to catch her chin and pull her face back to his.

"Things have been really rough between us, Spike. But I'm here now. And Julia's always going to be here, too. Ezekiel's always going to be here. Take it from me – being sore about it is a waste of energy."

When Spike's arm came around her, his hand widespread and reaching to cup one of her breasts, her claws came out in frustration. She pinched him and he seemed to sober, rubbing the spot on his arm and staring at the back of her head ashamed of himself. He pulled back to give her some breathing room. With her face still to the wall, she said, "We can't do this thing if we can't talk about things. You need to talk to me."

"I can do that," he said quietly, sincerely. "I just don't know how good I am at it, is all."

Faye took Spike's hand back, bringing it around her waist, bringing him closer. He leaned his face into the crook of her neck and shoulder and she reached up, pulling gingerly at the curls around his ear.

She closed her eyes and smiled to herself, "It sounds like you're off to a good start."

* * *

**Lyrics from Spirit of the West's _Political_ and Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds' _The Ship Song_ were used. Please don't sue…**


	76. Rise And Fall Of Sparrow's Breast

Okay.

I promised myself I'd get at least two chapters up within a week and I managed to do it! Now the question is did I manage two _readable_ chapters within a week?

Let me know?

Thank you so much, my friend.

I love you.

ssg.x.

* * *

**Maybe sparrow you should wait  
The hawks alight till morning  
You'll never pass beyond the gate  
If you don't hear my warning**

* * *

Ed's sort of like a bird. One of those ones that wakes you up in the morning, or keeps you awake at night with its incessant singing. You throw shit at it and it disappears for a bit and then within an hour or two it's back and chirping away like it suffers from some sort of short-term memory loss. _Remember me? I was the guy who tried to knock you off that branch with one of my boots. Yeah, that guy. Yeah I missed you, too, you dumb fuck._

Ed's sort of like that bird. When she's gone you're sort of happy for the quiet. But you're also kind of relieved when she comes back because it means you didn't accidentally kill her, or crush her spirit or whatever.

She's doing cartwheels along the dock. She's been doing them for an hour now while I try to catch some fish for lunch. It's slow-going and might end up being dinner instead if the fucking fish don't get their act together soon. I can barely hear her feet and hands hitting the wooden slats.

It's a sunny day but also a chilly one, and Ed is wearing my winter coat. The ridiculously long sleeves, the stiffness of the fabric, and the bulkiness of the down don't seem to affect her agility too much, if at all. She moves swiftly and silently like a cat this afternoon and I miss the singing. I miss the bird. I wonder if the kid's actually got something weighing on her mind. I figured you had to still have one to have it get heavy on you.

I had a lot of stuff going on in my head earlier on, too. Up until I decided to do some fishing I'd been trying to get my shit together. I racked my brain trying to figure out who could have sent that woman to kill me last night. I wondered about getting into Roscoe's apartment and looking for those discs he'd mentioned.

Roscoe had mentioned Ana but it wasn't clear whether or not he meant to keep an eye on her because she was in danger or to keep an eye on her because she _was_ the danger. If Ana's the danger, she was doing a bang-up job at keeping Jet occupied last night. And this morning, for that matter. I haven't seen head or tails of him since he helped me out of Ana's car after getting home from Doc's.

And this morning there was something else. I was cleaning my gun to have it ready in case someone else decided they didn't like me much and noticed it had only been fired once last night. I know Faye had fired the one bullet into my shoulder because I saw her do it with my own eyes. And as miraculous and uncharacteristic as it was, I was sure Faye had put a second bullet into the redhead's forehead, even though my eyes had been closed and I hadn't actually seen her do it. Jet couldn't have done it because he didn't show up with Ana for another five or ten minutes. Someone else was in the room with us.

It could have been someone sent to make sure the redhead did her job properly. She'd said herself she was supposed to leave Faye alone. Maybe someone needed to go along to guarantee that and took care of her when she decided she didn't want to follow the rules. But that doesn't make sense, either. If the person who'd sent the redhead to kill me already had such a crackshot on their team, why would they bother with the middleman? Or middlewoman, as the case may be. Doesn't make any fucking sense.

Fishing's good for that, though. Emptying your head, I mean. I can't see a fucking thing from where I am right now. I need to get out of the maze for a while and get back into it with a fresh view. It's the perfect day for that. The air's crisp and cool this afternoon. The sun is bright and Faye is home. If I can get something into my stomach soon, it just might turn out to be a good day. I just need _one._

Breathlessly, Ed sits beside me and leans over to peer into the water. Today you can just about make out the sandy floor beneath it. I'm hoping there's a fish or two living in the old rubber tire. Maybe a couple in the workboot lying nearby. How does someone lose one boot and not both?

Jesus, I'm starving.

"I have cheese puffs," she says.

"Lucky you," I grumble.

I see Ein eyeing the bait in my fishing box hungrily and reach a hand out to snap the lid shut. He jumps, surprised. I'm sure I haven't moved for two hours. He probably thought I was dead. Or hoped. I'm giving it another half hour. If I don't catch anything I'm going into my mason jar and using the stash to pick up a sandwich from that shop in town. Then I remember I have to get something for Faye, too, and wonder if I have enough. Yeah, I love Faye, but I don't know if half a sandwich is enough for me.

I decide that Faye wouldn't want me to go hungry. I get cranky when I'm hungry and it would just end up ruining her day, too. So it's settled. Half an hour and then I'm off to the sandwich shop. I can get her a root beer with the change. She'd like that, I'm sure.

Ed shakes her head. "Not for the eating. For the baiting. For the fishies" she reiterates. And here I thought she was just rubbing the fact that she had cheese puffs to eat in my face.

"I'm not sure the fish will go for cheese puffs."

"Oh," Ed sighs, stretching her arms up over her head. She shields her eyes from the blazing sun above with one hand, rubs Ein's head with the other, "I'm sure Spike-person knows what he's doing. He's been at it for so long after all."

She glances sideways at me.

Jesus, was that sarcasm?

"Fine. Go get the fucking cheese puffs," I snap. She's on her feet and off to find processed cheesy fish bait in a flash. I laugh to myself. The great circle of life. A girl grows up with monkeys, she develops a penchant for tossing shit your way. The kid's gonna end up just like Faye. Haughty, sarcastic and not knowing her place if she had it marked out on a map. She'll make some lucky bastard a terrible wife.

I hear someone approaching from across the dock and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. My grip tightens on the fishing pole when I hear Ein begin to growl low and fierce at my side. I begin to reach for the gun tucked into the waist of my jeans when I realize the approaching someone is Faye. Which explains Ein's growling.

"Hey," she says as she gets closer. She's wearing my work shirt and an old pair of track pants with the legs rolled up. She's chosen to accessorize this ensemble with her heels from the night before. As though she's read my mind she says, "I know. I look stupid. But I was really hungry and there was nothing in the fridge. As per usual."

That's when I notice the white paper bag at her side. I recognize the logo printed on it, even with only a sliver of it showing between her fingers.

"You went to Zippy's?"

"Yeah."

"How'd you get off the ship without anyone noticing?" I try not to let on that her being able to sneak off the ship without me knowing makes me a little uneasy. If I get nervous, she'll get nervous. When Faye gets nervous these days she goes all loopy. And then sometimes she accidentally shoots people.

"Well, it wasn't easy what with the top-notch security system you guys have in place here," she says, gesturing to Ein who's just gotten his head stuck in the empty fish bucket beside me. He starts trotting around in circles and whimpering, trying to shake it off. After a moment or two of what can only be described as unbidden amusement, Faye puts the paper bag down to rescue the dumb mutt. I quickly grab the bag and open it. The smell of smoked prosciutto on oven-baked havarti bread hits me like water after a day of walking through the desert. Three quarters of the sandwich is already gone.

"Jesus, Faye. You've just about polished it off!"

"I'm sorry. I would have gotten you one but I didn't have enough cash on me."

She almost looks genuinely sorry. Almost.

"Funny, but I don't remember you having a purse last night," I say.

"While I was looking for something to wear today I found this jar in one of your drawers. And it had a little cash in it. I didn't figure you'd miss it. I'm sure I can pay you back. Really. It's just I was really hungry and –"

"Well, I was out here fishing, wasn't I?"

Faye smiles, "Yeah, well that's why I went out for the sandwich." She explains further, "What's yours is mine and what's mine is yours, right? That's what relationships are all about, aren't they?"

"Where's the 'mine' part in the 'yours' right now?" I growl.

"I thought you'd ask me that. Look in the bag again," she says.

I do. There's a can of root beer in there. I look back at her, certain my right eye is visibly twitching. Faye's beaming proudly, "See? I didn't forget about you."

I can't help but smile back. Women turn you kind of stupid that way. In a way Faye's sort of like a bird, too. A big, greedy shrew of a sandwich-hoarding bird, but a bird nonetheless and I suppose I'm relieved that things seem sort of normal again. Faye sits down beside me, leans her head against my good shoulder, and I almost let myself forget that someone out there wants me dead. But, then, that's sort of normal, too.

We sit like that for a bit and then Ed shows up with the cheese puffs and Ein's barking at her feet.

I hear the familiar crackle, pop and fizz of a softdrink can being opened.

I look down at Faye. She looks up at me. Her eyes widen innocently, the can of root beer already at her lips.

"I was only going to have a sip."

* * *

**Lyrics from Neko Case's Maybe Sparrow were used. Don't sue, please.**


	77. All We Have Here Is Sky

So,

I've not been well and it gets harder and harder to write as things progress so I'm sorry it's short. But I'm hanging on and I hope you will, too. So few things make a person really happy, don't you think? So I'm holding on and the more hands I have, the stronger the grip.

Thank you so much. You've been very kind through all of this.

ssg.x.

* * *

**Here  
****All we have here is sky  
All the sky is  
****Is blue  
All the blue is  
****Is one more colour now**

* * *

_This doesn't look like the bathroom._

Ana stood knock-kneed in the doorway of Jet's workshop.

_I might end up having to go in one of those plants._

She'd been searching for the bathroom for about eight minutes now despite the fact that she'd been in the bathroom earlier when she'd helped Faye wash up.

The ship was like a giant three-dimensional puzzle. Every angle you looked at it caused the whole thing to shift, the layout changing every time you entered it from a different room. The corridors were dark, some underwhelmingly lit up with only a single blue sconce on one of the walls. The eye of the hurricane appeared to be the seating area which remained relatively well-lit at all times. Arriving here was like coming up from a deep sea dive. Ana danced around the long, orange couch once or twice before plunging back into the darkness.

To her delight she heard a toilet flush in the near-distance and bound towards the sound nearly taking out Spike as he exited the bathroom, drying his hands with the white t-shirt he wore.

"Sorrysorrysorry…" she said as she flew past him and into the bathroom, thumbs already hooked into the elastic waist of her pyjama shorts and ready to tug them down.

A few minutes later, after unsuccessfully relocating Jet's room, Ana drifted back with the tide to the seating area. Spike was sitting in the armchair with a book. He was wearing lime-green boxer shorts with white baseballs all over them. Given the serious expression on his face while he read and the faint spots of blood dotting the white t-shirt through the bandages beneath, the shorts seemed strangely out of sorts with the rest of him. Clearly a purchase based solely on immediate need. But then on her recent adventures in the Labyrinth, Ana picked up fairly quickly that the ship was merely a form of transportation. A means to keep the rain off its occupants' heads. A hostel for wanderers. The only hints of personality that existed on this ship -- and there were few -- were solely Jet's.

Spike was clearly still a tourist despite the fact that, according to Jet, they'd been here together for so long. Ana imagined Spike buying whatever he needed for the individual days as they came and went. When he left on a whim, there'd be nothing to pack because nothing was really ever his. Including those God-awful boxer shorts.

Ana stood for a minute or two and sighed loudly to signal her presence, not knowing that Spike could have heard her coming from a radius of a mile outside of the ship. She was waiting for an invitation to sit down. Spike remained silent for a moment, eventually leaning over and pulling a gun out from beneath the armchair, placing it meaningfully in front of him on the coffee table.

"Sit down if you want," he said.

Ana walked slowly past him and sat down, bringing her knees up to her chin and pulling the hem of the t-shirt she wore over her legs. She rubbed her arms vigorously, too occupied with watching the goosebumps raise on her arms to notice Spike glancing at her old Nadsat concert t-shirt intently.

"Is it always so cold in here?" She was trying to make conversation. Trying not to stare at the gun.

Spike licked the tip of an index finger and turned a page, "We hardly notice it anymore."

_We hardly notice it anymore. Gabba gabba hey. One of us._

"Faye's sleeping?" she asked absently. Spike's eyes raised from the book, pinning Ana to the couch with the flash of flame in them.

"Why?"

"I don't know. I'm just talking," she explained nervously. She kept one eye on the gun.

"What's with the gun?"

"None of your business."

"It is if you're planning on using it on me," she laughed nervously, an attempt at breaking the tension with a joke. Spike didn't reply. Ana tried to visualize a map of the ship in her head. Spike was clearly a loon and she needed to know how to get back to Jet as quickly as possible before making a move to do so.

"What are you reading?"

Spike flipped the book over and read off the spine, "_The Ipcress File_."

Ana nodded to herself, not knowing what to say next as she stumbled further through a haphazardly thrown together list of conversation topics.

"So why are you up? Shoulder's bothering you?"

"Shoulder's fine aside from the hole in it. Waiting for the other shoe to drop."

_What the hell's he talking about?_

"What the hell are you talking about?" she asked, a little angrier than she was prepared for. She planted her feet on the floor, her hands ready at her sides to launch her from the couch and back into the maze. "You're treating me like some growth on your neck. If you want to be left alone you could just say so."

"It's easier for me if you stay."

Ana's eyes widened. "Easier? What's easier?"

"Roscoe mentioned you before he was shot."

"Did you kill him?" Ana suddenly demanded, not understanding how or why she'd suddenly become so defensive. She knew for sure that whatever or whoever Spike believed she was was being confirmed with each turn of her volume knob. Spike looked over his book at her and though half his face was hidden behind it, the narrowing of his eyes suggested that he was enjoying this. He was enjoying being right.

"I wanted to. I wish I had. But it wasn't me. Someone got there first."

Ana felt sick to her stomach. "Roscoe was a good guy. I didn't know him that well but he was a good person. And he didn't deserve what he got. Despite what you think."

Spike threw the book down on the table suddenly, teeth bared. "You don't think so, huh? He was one of them! You see what he helped do to Faye? She looks at me now and she doesn't have a fucking clue who I am sometimes! He _did that to her_ -- your fucking _friend_, Roscoe!" He stood, grabbing up the gun and hovering over Ana who found herself pushing across the sofa as far away from him as she could get but he lunged for her and his hands came out on either side of her head. She momentarily thought about calling out for Jet but that idea was replaced with thought and body-paralyzing fear. She shivered in its wake. She shivered in Spike's wake.

"You wanna know what the gun's for? To keep them from getting her or maybe to keep them from getting me! To keep her on the ship with the threat of killing her if I have to! I haven't a fucking clue why I have this gun with me now!" Spike shouted.

His eyes flickered across Ana's wobbling chin and tear-lined face. He seemed to sober and stand back, running a hand across his face suddenly wet with sweat. Ana felt exhausted from the rush of relief, lying back limply against the arm of the couch.

"Tell me you're not working for them, too. I can't sleep until I know," he whispered. Ana spoke up hoarsely, saying meaningfully, "No. I'm not working for them."

Spike nodded to himself. "Keep doing what you're doing then."

"What's that?" she asked quietly.

"Making Jet happy."

He turned his back on her and walked off, dragging the gun behind him. He disappeared into the darkness of the corridor beneath a head too haunted and heavy with hallucinations for his tired body to carry.

* * *

**Lyrics used are from Jane Siberry's _One More Colour_ Sarah Polley does a wonderful job of it, if you ever come across it. Don't sue.**


	78. You Love To Fail, That's All You Love

Hi and I hope you're doing well!

If you're ever curious about the music in a particular chapter, visit the community via the link in my profile.

I love you.

ssg.x.

* * *

**Maybe tomorrow I'll see love in your eyes and mine will dry  
Maybe tomorrow we can learn how to fly on these nasty little wings  
We don't know why you've been gone  
Somebody said you're on the run  
You're living where wild horses run  
Well, hey, whatever turns you on.  
I'll be your confidante  
Come and go as you please  
I'll honor and protect my Wagner in dungarees.**

**And I wanna take you out but you always refuse  
'cause you only play the games that you know you can lose  
**

**You love to fail, that's all you love.**

* * *

"Aortic regurgitation." 

"Come again?"

"Aortic regurgitation. His aortic valve isn't closing properly. Blood's leaking backwards through it. Does he find himself short of breath often?"

Jimmy shrugged his shoulders. He ran a hand through his longish red hair and tried to smooth his brow as the doctor brushed past him around the gurney Ezekiel rested on.

"I don't know."

"Has he been suffering from fatigue lately?"

"I haven't a clue," James spat finally losing his patience. At Nora's insistence they'd followed Ezekiel's ambulance from Angela's funeral to the hospital and had been sitting around in uncomfortable near-silence for four hours.

The doctor met his clear, blue eyes curiously. James was unapologetic in his explanation.

"I don't know much about him these days. We don't talk. We only brought him here –"

"Yes," Nora finally spoke up, pushing past James. "Ezekiel gets winded pretty easily. He thought he just needed time to adjust to the planet's atmosphere."

Yes, okay --James was concerned for his former friend's well-being. But once the paramedics had peeled him off the ground and had him suitably strapped onto a gurney with mask in place, James' figured there wasn't much else he and Nora could offer Ezekiel by way of assistance. He still knew Ezekiel well enough to know their concern would be wasted on the likes of him, but Nora was absolutely dead set in her decision to see Ezekiel out of emergency.

"How long would you say things have been like this?" the doctor asked.

"Since before we were married. A few years now," Nora leaned her shoulder into James but he shrugged away from her, snorting dismissively. Nora's eyes failed in their attempt to capture his before he turned and skulked out into the hall. She looked back at the doctor and excused herself before going after James.

**

* * *

**

Hours would pass and unfamiliar voices entered and exited Ezekiel'shead like the tide going in and out through his ears. There were times when the room was silent and the only sound accompanying the ever-present thoughts of Faye was that of his own breathing made cold and mechanical by some machine or another.

Ezekiel rested with his eyes half-closed wondering if his body's heart would give out before his mind's heart would. In and out of sleep, he could only catch a word here and there.

progressed…

…rapidly…

…surgery…

…replace…

Nora visited once. She sat in a chair nearby for a short time but didn't speak a word. He recognized it was her from the scent of her shampoo when she leaned over his bed to lift his heavy hand up into her own so that she could place an emotionally confused kiss on the inside of his wrist…

"Goodbye, Ezekiel…"

…hesitantly.

_Goodbye._

* * *

**There's a monkey on my back  
****Makes me talk like that  
****There's a monkey on my back  
****Makes me act like that**

* * *

"Ezekiel?" 

Ezekiel opened his eyes for the first time in three days not because he was feeling any better but because he could have sworn the voice he'd heard belonged to --

"Bea."

"Ezekiel."

Ezekiel hadn't seen her since the morning of his first marriage. Of course changes had taken place. She was older and her face much leaner. Her hair was longer and hanging loosely down her back. At twenty-five, she was now older than her sister and Ezekiel wondered if Bea thought of time as the curse he understood it to be. The generous curve of her abdomen delicately swathed by the gauzy fabric of the pale green tunic she wore suggested she was expecting her first child in less than three months.

"I got married last year."

Ezekiel blinked. He didn't congratulate her right away.

"He's a nice man. We're in love," she said kindly.

She'd read his mind.

"I'm happy for you."

They both smiled and Ezekiel glimpsed Faye again hiding behind the red velvet curtain of her sister's lips. Bea drummed her fingers slowly against the swell of her stomach, looking uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry about Angela."

Ezekiel didn't respond. Instead he grunted with discomfort as he struggled to rearrange the pillows behind him. Bea briskly approached his bedside and began making the adjustments he needed for his comfort. He looked positively bloodless, almost the colour of the paper thin hospital gown he wore. Thinner. Older, of course. His eyes were dark and sagged in their sockets. His hair was still the shadowy bramble it had been back in highschool. He looked weak and tired and she wondered if coming here may have been a mistake.

She remembered when she'd first begun to think the world of Ezekiel. She remembered how strong he was. Not just the way he'd been able to hoist her up in his arms and carry her all the way home that afternoon she'd injured herself playing soccer. Those first long nights at the hospital just after Faye's accident...there was strength there when she'd never expected it and from the last person she thought she'd get it from. When her family could think of nothing else but the dealings of what appeared to be at the time the imminent death of their eldest daughter, Ezekiel had practically spoon-fed Bea to be certain she ate. He'd bribe her into sleep with promises of positive change tomorrow.

He'd held her hand as he slowly lost his mind's peace forever.

She didn't recognize the powerful species of strength for what it was at the time but she wondered now if she could tap into that strength again for the sake of what was left of her family.

They folded into eachother at the moment their arms touched like towers of playing cards victims to the same breeze. Bea's arms wrapped around Ezekiel's shoulders just as they had that first night at the hospital and his arms squeezed her gently around her waist.

"I'm so glad you're alright," Bea whispered, her voice stirred withresurfacing feelings of abandonment as she exhaled moistly into the steely cold of his skin, . The heat of her own only barely penetrated its aura. "When I don't hear about you in the news…it sounds funny but when I don't hear about you in the news I think you may have…"

"I'm sorry. I just couldn't keep seeing you. Looking more and more like her every day…"

Bea sobbed into his dark and disarrayed hair. She pulled back just enough to kiss his forehead. He held her face between his two hands, entreating her with wide eyes suddenly desperate to explain himself, "I thought if I left I could get away from the pain. I was stupid. It follows me everywhere. But you know that. Of course you know that. It follows you, too."

Bea smiled sadly, "There's no need to be sorry. I was angry with you for a long time. After Mom died –"

Ezekiel moaned his grief and guilt softly, eyes looking away from hers. Bea shushed him and continued gently, "It was at the hospital that I met Lee who was interning there. He's the most welcome thing to come into my life for a long time. He's taken wonderful care of me."

"I won't leave you again. I promise," he said quietly but firmly. Bea gave her head a sudden sobering shake, remembering her true purpose for visiting. She was all business as she gently but firmly extricated herself from his hold. She moved back to sit at the foot of his bed. Ezekiel watched her curiously, puzzled by the abrupt shift in her mood.

"I did come here for another reason besides making sure you were alright. I can't discuss anything here so I need you to come with me."

"Go with you where? What can't you discuss?" he asked carefully.

Bea shook her head insistently. _Where to begin,_ she thought.

"I can't say anything here. But it has to do with my father. It has to do with…I have reason to believe that my family's in danger. Faye. And you, too, for that matter."

"What kind of danger?" He reached for her hands but she stood and started gathering up the pile of his clothes from the chair in the corner.

"I can't explain here. You need to come with me."

Ezekiel still hesitated, his eyes darkened. Bea fumbled to hold his trousers out to him. "I don't mean to be cryptic but I can't say a word about it here. Please, you need to come with me now."

Ezekiel's fists clenched at his sides. "What kind of danger is she in?"

"Ezekiel…" Bea pleaded quietly, eyes moving from his to the door then back. "Please. It's not just her. It's you, too. It could be all of us. Please --"

"No," he said, setting his jaw. "Tell me. I won't move until you tell me."

"_Not here!_"

"_Tell me now,_" his voice rolled low in his throat and began to rise slowly like a tethered force of destruction about to snap from its bonds.Feral eyes seeming to change to blanks, Ezekiel's legs twitched beneath the covers. Frightened, Bea found herself clutching the trousers to herself, her other hand moving protectively to her belly. Gathering her wits about her, she insisted with tears beginning to stream down her face,"You're putting us both in danger, Ezekiel! You're putting _her_ in danger! Get up and get dressed! If you make a scene we'll never get out of here without anyone noticing!"

Slowly becoming sensible once again, Ezekiel carefully took the trousers back from Bea's shaking hands, shucking the hospital sheets from his wiry frame. When she saw that he was fumbling to figure out what tubes were connected to which parts of his body she approached him carefully and whispered, "Let me help you with those."

Ezekiel grabbed two up into his fist and pulled ferociously. He was a blur of angles and sharp ends as he disconnected himself from the medical equipment. Bea handed him each remaining item of clothing patiently, finally helping him with his jacket.

Scanning the hallway quickly she lead Ezekiel by the hand like a temporarily drugged wild animal to the nearest elevator.

* * *

**Lyrics from The Magnetic Fields' _You Love To Fail_ and The Kills _Monkey 23_ were used. Don't sue.**


	79. Into The End Of You

So.

Originally I posted this chapter and loathed it. After getting some feedback from both reviews and the very helpful folk at the Leadbelly community, I'm happy to report I don't hate it as much as before. Of course I couldn't change too much about it for fear that I'd end up screwing up the pacing and the timing of events in future chapters. But I gave it a few touch-ups so if you're reading this for the first time: I hope you enjoy it. And for those who are reading it for the second time: I'm so sorry. I hope I did okay this time.

I love you.

ssg.x.

* * *

**Let the last storm hit us  
Let it strike at the hardest part.  
Turn us all to mutiny  
Turn this boat upside down.  
I am not the captain  
I am just another fan.  
Sailing off the edge of truth  
Into the end of you.**

* * *

"Well, looks like you're still bald, eh, Black?" 

"And I see that dead squirrel's still rotting away on your upper lip."

Once Jet was certain both Spike and Faye were sound asleep, he wasted no time contacting Bob after receiving a message from his old friend early this morning. He was always sort of happy to reconnect with Bob even if it almost always meant bad news was to follow the warm greetings.

Jet could hear Ana still rattling around in the kitchen area, trying to find the coffee. Whenever she called out "I can't find it!" Jet would pleasantly shout back "It's in there somewhere!" Against his better judgement Jet was trusting Ana too soon. The old cop in him still maintained that Jet needed to keep the protective buffer around his dilapidated little family.

"I wanted to let you know before it gets out to the media. Your friend's gotten into some deep shit."

"I think it's pretty safe to say Spike's got a lease on that place."

"Not Spiegel. The other one. The broad."

It was hard to decipher the precise scale of trouble Faye was in. Bob's image on the screen was distorted by the noise of Jet's old vid-screen and the darkness surrounding Bob in his car. There was a dull aching in his chest when he thought back to passing Spike's room, peering in to see Spike clinging tightly to Faye, even in his sleep. The likelihood of everyone coming out of this okay lessened considerably with each passing night. It was breaking Jet's heart.

"Faye?" Jet was taken aback. He took a moment to absorb Bob's words. "You sure?"

"I've seen your partner, Black. He couldn't convince a blind, deaf man he was a woman if his life depended on it," Bob said wryly.

Jet rolled his eyes. "Alright, alright. Just gimme what you got."

"The other night Roscoe Calhoun and an unidentified female were found shot to death in the laundry room of the Cine Gemelo. You've been watching the news, right?"

"I know about Roscoe, yes," Jet sighed heavily.

"They're looking for Valentine. Some tips came in that she may have gone postal after finding out her Hollywood boyfriend was getting a little action in on the side."

"Jesus. That couldn't be further from the truth. Tips came in anonymously, I suppose."

"Is there any other kind?" Bob chuckled sourly. "Listen, business as usual, alright? I don't want to know what happened. I don't need to know what happened. I just wanted to let you know it's only a matter of time before the bounty hunters are crawling through your pipes looking to make some dough."

Jet rubbed his bearded jaw, blinking tiredly. "Yeah, alright. Thanks, Bob. I owe you one."

"You should be paying into my pension, Black." The screen sputtered noisily as Bob disconnected and his image was replaced by a documentary about yaks breeding on Venus. Jet pressed his face into his hands tiredly, switching the vid-screen off. Ana approached him carefully, sitting in the armchair and placing the two steaming mugs of coffee she finally managed to prepare onto the coffee table. She eyed Jet curiously.

"You look rough. Sex haze wear off?" Ana was trying to make Jet laugh but the attempt failed terribly. "Yikes. I'm sorry. That was in bad taste."

Jet gave his head a sobering shake. "No, I'm sorry. I'm a little rusty at hosting slumber parties. I'll see if there's something I can cook up for breakfast. Something tells me we're gonna need the fuel." Jet was about to stand but Ana put a hand on his knee, willing him to stay seated.

"What happened?" Ana asked, sitting on the arm of the sofa beside him. "You were just trying to rub the skin right off your face. Why so agitated?"

Jet's eyes raised to meet Ana's. He braced himself for her response to what he was going to say next. He was reluctant to do it but it was important that he tell her how he was feeling. He placed his hand on top of hers as she gave his knee an affectionate squeeze.

"Ana, I have to level with you. After what happened with Spike and Faye at the hotel, I really need to focus. I almost lost them. It was just fluke that Faye was able to kill that woman. If she'd have missed…"

For a second Ana looked quite stricken, but just as quickly her expression changed. She seemed to push whatever hurt he'd just caused her behind a shield of unmoving indifference. She regarded Jet coolly and he almost could have believed she was fine but for the tears welling up in her eyes. Of course that could have been due to the cold, stark lighting, the dry recirculated air on the ship, sleepiness - anything. But Jet knew it was him and he felt awful for it. Especially after all the shit she'd stuck through with him the past couple of weeks. Jet was trying to be loyal to his comrades, but it meant betraying the best thing to come into his life in the longest time. Not to mention betraying himself.

"It's not that I don't trust you, Ana. It's just that after finding out Roscoe was working– "

"You think I'm working for them, too, huh? Did you have a little late night chat with Spike?"

Jet blinked, "What? No."

"You sure? Or are you just practicing those rusty loyalties of yours?" Ana snapped. She was smiling and for a quick and naive second Jet thought that maybe she was cracking some sort of joke. For a second he felt relief, but her eyes were giving way to something else. Something darker. Jet was captivated by the intensity in them.

"I've done nothing these past few days but try to help you any way I can! I washed the blood from your friend's face and hair while my own friend was rotting alone back at that fucking hotel! I drove that snarky bastard partner of yours to see your shady doctor and I didn't ask a single fucking question!"

"Ana –" Jet began.

"_No!_" Ana shouted, "This is important! I follow you around like a goddamn puppy because I care about you, you big, bald _fuck_!" She pointed in the direction of his room, "What happened back there, I can't fake that! I'm not a fucking monster! I can't fake love, okay?" Ana stood and started walking back towards the stairs that would take her back to his room, "I'm gonna go grab my stuff and get out of here, okay?"

Jet's paralysis finally ebbed and he rushed to follow her up the stairs, grabbing her arm to steer her back to him. "Don't, Ana. Stay. Please. I'm asking you to stay."

Ana pulled back ferociously, "Why take the chance of me hearing something I'm not supposed to hear? What if I take it back to my employers? Why should you and your friends have to whisper?"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I said anything. I trust you, Ana. But I have to think of them," he said. "I have to force myself not to trust you, okay? Trusting you comes so damn naturally. But I can't lose them." Jet felt a strange rawness in his throat. He felt tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. "I can't take the chance of one of them getting killed. All we wanted was the answer to a simple question. That's how this all started. And now look at us. People are getting killed and one of those two dumb kids of mine could be next. It was sheer luck they both got out of that laundry room alive. What am I supposed to do? What would you do if the only family you had was slipping down the drain?" Jet's head dropped miserably. He closed his eyes and bit his lip, afraid to look up into her eyes.

Ana stared down at him sadly. She reached out, touching his cybernetic arm. Jet still couldn't look at her, couldn't feel the heat of her touch on him. She continued up the stairs, leaving Jet behind staring at his boots.

Quietly she said, "I would have grabbed onto the hand that was offered to me and held on with all my might."

* * *

**Lyrics from Sleater-Kinney's _The End Of You_. Don't sue, please.**


	80. Our Lives In Different Places Now

**I've seen into your future  
I saw the ending  
Baby I'm sorry to wreck  
The whole story for you  
Oh you sweet thing  
Poor you**

Faye felt she was finally at a level of sanity that would allow her to begin piecing together the shreds, clues to what had just started out as a movie being made. Now people around her were being stalked. Monsters were coming out of closets. People were being killed. People she loved.

She hoped that combined with the now almost daily visits from the ghosts of her past she'd be able to somehow fit everything together.

She wanted to feel useful again.

Last night she'd dreamt of Ezekiel. She'd dreamt of their last night together. This time around she knew where their fates would take them. While they went through the motions, the same kisses, the same words, the same stars above, the same hell below, a hand from the future exposed its claws and tore up her insides.

Straying from the events of that evening, not bearing to go through with them any longer, she begged Ezekiel not to let her go on that trip. Dropped to her knees and begged. Except her knees fell through the dark ground, taking her out of the atmosphere, bringing her back to cold space.

_I don't want you to die, _she'd screamed.

And then she was speaking to her mother. Her mother told her that things happen for a reason.

Faye didn't want to buy it.

_It just wasn't meant to be,_ Maggie Spector gently insisted. _And when you go against fate, the results are disastrous._

_Why are you saying these things to me? _This couldn't be her mother. Her mother always encouraged her to go after what she wanted. The world, the universe was hers to have and all she had to do was reach out and take it.

_All I wanted was Ezekiel._

_Things change, my love. _

_No shit._

_Watch your language._

_You're not my mother._

_I'll always be your mother, _Maggie replied patiently.

_Then I'm not your daughter. Faye Spector is dead. Her heart stopped beating with his, _she said bitterly. Her cheeks were wet. Her throat ached. Even in dreams.

_Where's my father? Why isn't he here? _Faye demanded.

Maggie looked back over her shoulder. Where she was looking, Faye had no idea. There was nothing but blackness.

_He's looking for something, _Maggie answered.

_He should be here. This is important, isn't it?_

_When you go against fate, the results are disastrous_, she said.

Faye vibrated with frustration_. You said that already. Why do all these dreams have to be so fucking cryptic?_

_Language, Faye._

_Ezekiel and I, we never went against fate. We were eachother's fate. Everything that happened between us, everything was perfect…_

Effortless.

_I'll never love…_

… _never love…like –_

**Time's best when it stops  
We turn back the clock  
The gears they grind and scrape  
They sound like my heart  
When another day starts without you  
I just fall apart**

"Faye?"

Faye opened her eyes. Spike had roused her awake with a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Food: Appearing in the main room for a limited time only."

Faye brought herself up on one elbow, close to his face. Spike tilted his head one way, then the other, smiling curiously, lips waiting to receive and welcome hers. She didn't take the cue.

She knew from the look on his face that he understood something was wrong. Something had happened while she was asleep.

"Spike…"

"Hm?"

"Promise me something?"

"Yeah?"

"Promise me you won't go digging around my past anymore? Promise me we'll leave Ezekiel where he is?"

"I was trying to help you."

"You can help me by leaving my past in my past."

Spike stood back, turned towards the door. "Food's ready. You coming or not?"

"Spike, promise me."

She saw Spike venture the briefest glance at the bloodied party dress hanging from a recently and methodically placed hook on the wall by the door. Neither of them had spoken a word about the display since returning to the Bebop together. Neither of them wanted to go back there.

Spike sighed resignedly. He threw his hands down to his sides, shrugging his shoulders.

"Okay. I'll let it go."

Not wanting to cause him any undue worry, she followed up their tense exchange with a ridiculously timed smile. She knew he was too smart not to recognize such a phony display, but she thought it might be worth a try anyways.

Spike was her world now. She couldn't lose him. _Ezekiel is dead._

She thought of her mother, or of the stranger in mother's clothes. She couldn't help it.

_It just wasn't meant to be._

Spike made his way back to the main room. Faye followed. She watched the back of his head and her eyes squinted. She tried to make the t-shirt and workpants he wore look more like a school uniform. She screwed up her face to imagine him silhouetted against a brilliant sun and blue sky. Trees. A playground. A swingset.

But she couldn't do it. He was very distinctly Spike. He would never be anyone else but Spike Spiegel. It made her sad in a way, yes. She'd be lying to herself if she didn't admit that. But she was also relieved.

Faye Valentine loved Spike Spiegel.

_Go with it._

**I've seen into your future  
And I'll warn you  
It only gets worse  
And I swear  
I'll have you cursing  
My name**

As Spike swiftly turned to leave Faye's room, he hoped Jet and the thirteen-year-old bottomless pit hadn't finished off the stew Jet had thrown together with bits and pieces of food and ingredients foraged from every corner of the closet that served as the Bebop's kitchen.

It had all been for show. He'd been careful not to use the word 'promise'. Spike couldn't break a promise to Faye he'd never really made, right?

_Leave Ezekiel where he is. Leave my past in my past. _

He would have been more than happy to leave things alone until just then. He was like a child in that sense. He'd use a letter opener, a hairpin, a blowtorch; whatever he could get his hands on to open Pandora's Box. Faye was keeping something from him and he wanted in.

And she'd said it herself. _What's yours is mine and what's mine is yours._

That's what relationships are all about.

**Years come and go and they drift like snow  
Away into the night and nothing is ending  
We'll just be spending  
Our lives in different places now**

"Okay," Jet began, settling back into the armchair while lighting a cigarette. He took an extended drag before continuing, "What do we know? Spike, you start."

Spike reached for the match Jet offered him, striking it against the heel of his boot then bringing it up to his lips and the cigarette already waiting between them. His eyes darted from the match as he blew it out, to Faye seated beside him.

He wondered if he and Jet should have left Faye out of their little meeting. Maybe it was too soon for her to return to 'work'. It's not like they didn't need her. Faye was always better at piecing some things together than Jet or Spike. Jet was the mechanical one, Spike was always the street savvy guy and Faye brought this thing, this _female_ thing, that was…well…female.

She was always able to pick up or consider things the other two missed. She had an intuition Spike and Jet secretly envied her. It came in handy when trying to locate a bounty, or recover a lost one when Spike or Faye screwed up – which happened more often than he'd like to admit. She instinctively knew when someone was close to their brother, when someone was stupid enough to hide out at a friend, girlfriend's or ex-husband's place. Spike didn't know how she knew, but she did. She just _knew_.

"Nothing. I got nothing. The redhead was pretty tight-lipped. All I got from her is that someone's after me now, too. Alice said the movie was pitched to Akaido to goad Faye's family into trying to find her," Spike said, rolling his eyes.

"You don't buy that?" Jet asked.

"Nah," he shrugged his shoulders. "Doesn't make sense. Why would they need to be reinspired to look for Faye? She's either on their minds or she isn't."

"So…?"

"So I think that someone is trying to smoke Faye out. Someone besides her family. Or maybe the mysterious T.H.E.Y. is trying to smoke _me_ out. I mean they're fucking with Faye's head, but maybe they're just trying to get me distracted, get my guard down."

Faye grinned, shaking her head. "It's always about you, isn't it?"

Spike sucked at his cigarette, "Alright, well then explain to me why the red widow wanted me dead."

"Maybe she was hired to get you out of the way," Jet suggested. "It's a pretty safe bet that they're after Faye. What else do we know?"

"That night I was in Roscoe's apartment with Spike – " Faye started.

"Yeah," Spike jumped in. "I heard music. Really quiet in the background. I thought maybe a radio or the t.v. was on in the other room or something. But Roscoe –"

"Roscoe said that he was instructed to play it," Faye continued.

"He said there were others, too. Discs in his apartment. Whatever was going on with that music, it really fucked with Faye's head."

"It was an old song Ezekiel's band used to cover. It was one of his favourites," Faye explained. She was uncomfortable talking about Ezekiel with Spike sitting beside her. An indescribable sorrow throbbed inside her and she was sure that it was going to show itself in a very public way all over her face in a moment. She wasn't prepared for what effect that would have on Spike.

"Do you think there was anything subliminal in there?" Jet asked.

"I don't know if there'd need to be. Stuff like sounds and scents, they can resurface a lot of forgotten memories," Faye said. "Trust me. If anyone would know, it's me."

Jet nodded but didn't elaborate on his reasons for agreeing. He seemed distracted. Spike chalked it up to the stress of the past few days. Faye was picking up on something entirely different. She glanced over at Jet, eyes soft with sympathy. She knew something Spike didn't. She'd noticed Ana's abrupt disappearance. She'd noticed the smile on Jet's face that had probably followed Ana home.

"Okay, next. Faye, what do you know?"

"Nothing you guys don't already know. My father worked on the board of directors at the Gate Corporation. He was charged with embezzlement, the family lost everything and then he killed himself," Faye spoke with a tangibly forced nonchalance.

"Ana said the Gate Corporation was footing the bill for the film's production. So one link to solving this whole stupid thing belongs solely to Faye. She's the only link we can make between us and the movie."

"Ezekiel, too. Roscoe said that all the discs he'd seen or heard seemed to mainly focus on Ezekiel. Roscoe thought that it was him that they were after."

"And it can't be him they're after, right? Ezekiel's dead. You and the kid found his death certificate," Jet stated, absently disregarding Faye's feelings for a moment. He was immediately sorry for it though he didn't mention it.

Faye's stomach churned.

"Yeah," Spike glanced over at Faye. It was too soon. It was very clearly too soon. She looked positively ill. And of course she would. They hadn't discussed Ezekiel's death. She was hearing all of this for the first time.

When he'd first told her about finding the death certificate after Roscoe was killed (he still marveled at his timing there), she hadn't really had the time to mourn. He'd been with her since they got home, almost never letting her out of his sight. He made a mental note to encourage Faye to sleep in her own room tonight. Or something. She needed the time alone to grieve and he wasn't entirely sure she'd take that time if he didn't offer it to her. He realized he was being selfish. He'd been keeping her prisoner despite the fact that it was all just to keep her safe.

"A friend of his found Ezekiel dead in his kitchen. He was thirty. According to all the articles Ed and I read he had some sort of heart condition so it wasn't entirely unexpected," Spike explained.

This was the first time Faye was hearing the details of Ezekiel's death. It was worse than she imagined. She thought that maybe Ezekiel had died an old man. She thought that at least he was able to live a full life. Maybe get married, have children. She didn't want to think he'd moved on after her accident. But she hoped his life wasn't a misery.

Thirty.

_He was only thirty for Christ's sake._

"He died alone?" Faye's voice cracked. She couldn't help it. Spike and Jet looked at eachother simultaneously, each one silently seeking answers from the other on how to handle another possible breakdown from Faye. Both faces were blank.

"The link could be Ezekiel. But I don't know how that would work," Spike said quietly.

The three of them sat silently not knowing what to say or do next until Faye finally stood up, tugging at the t-shirt she wore over a pair of Spike's trackpants.

"I'm sorry," she said, voice cracking. "I'm sorry. I'm not ready."

Jet nodded. Spike reached for her fingers, not trying to hold her back but to offer her some comfort. She let him briefly touch her, grimacing as though in pain, before disconnecting herself and swiftly heading down the corridor.

"Do you think we should leave this alone?" Jet asked. He rubbed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He wondered if he could remember where Ana lived. He couldn't think of another way to get in touch with her.

"We can't. You know we can't," Spike said tiredly. He stood up and peered into the darkness of the corridor that had engulfed Faye.

Jet smirked, bemused. "Spike, what –"

Spike motioned with a frantic movement of his hand for Jet to be quiet. They both froze for a minute until Spike seemed satisfied and sat back down.

"I thought Faye might be listening. I didn't want her to hear," Spike explained. Jet regarded him quizzically. Spike leaned forward, Jet followed suit. If one of them moved another inch, their heads would clunk together.

"I don't think he's dead."

"Ezekiel."

"Yeah. I don't think he's dead. I think Roscoe was actually telling the truth."

"What did Roscoe actually say?" Jet asked. Spike turned his head, looking out for Faye again.

"He said that all the discs he'd received, the music and the videos, they're almost all entirely about Ezekiel. What if whoever's behind this is trying to use Faye to get to Ezekiel? Maybe they're trying to spark Faye's memory to get her to look for Ezekiel."

"There has to be more to it than that, don't you think? I mean for all the damage they're doing to the broad… I mean, it has to be personal, right?"

"And it_ is_ personal. I mean it works both ways, doesn't it? Faye's memories resurface, she sniffs out Ezekiel. Faye is in danger, Ezekiel sniffs out Faye. Either way, they get what they want."

"But if it's Ezekiel they're after then wouldn't they have counted on Faye finding his death certificate?"

"_He_ faked his own death. He was probably trying to throw them off his scent while protecting Faye at the same time. She'd find his death certificate, she'd stop looking for him. She'd stay uninvolved. She'd stay safe."

"Except now they're back on Ezekiel's trail. They know he's alive," Jet almost shouted, pleased with himself. Spike's eyes widened and he whipped his head around again to see if there was any movement in the hallway. Jet winced, feeling stupid. He whispered, "One thing doesn't make sense. The Gate Corporation. What's the link between Ezekiel and the Gate Corporation? Faye's father worked on the board of directors. Why would these people be after Ezekiel?"

"We'll get Ed on that. You can supervise and keep the loopy kid focused. In the meantime, I'll see if I can't pay a visit to that friend of Ezekiel's who 'discovered' his body. See if the kid's awake. Maybe she can get me an address," Spike said, standing and giving Jet a long-overdue pat on the back before heading to the kitchen area to get a pot of coffee on.

"You aren't gonna go check on the broad?" Jet asked Spike's retreating figure over his shoulder.

"I'll see her in the morning," Spike called back, mumbling to himself, "It'll be easier that way."

_Leave Ezekiel where he is. Leave my past in my past. _

_Promise me._

He never could lie to a woman's face.

**Lyrics quoted from The Russian Futurists' _A Telegram From The Future_. Please don't sue.**


	81. The Breath To Whisper Goodbye

So.

I think this is an interlude. I'm hoping I can get the next chapter out within the next week or so. That's the plan. In the meantime, I hope you're well and happy.

Because I love you and I'll miss you terribly when this is all over.

ssg.x.

**If I could  
I would give you  
The rest of my life**

"You need to see her."

Ezekiel jiggled his leg uncomfortably as he sat on Bea's couch. There was a ring on the knee of his trousers where the glass of water Bea had offered him rested. He lifted the glass, tracing the dark watermark beneath it with his index finger but didn't drink. He'd been holding the glass for about ten minutes and hadn't ventured a sip.

He tried to pretend he hadn't heard her. From Bea's perspective it was altogether possible he couldn't. He was a musician after all. So many loud clubs, so many loud shows, so much screaming. It was a miracle he had any hearing left.

Slowly going deaf wouldn't drown out the voices in his head, though. And if he couldn't hear Bea, Bea was confident he could hear the voice in his head echoing her words.

"I have to keep her safe," he said hoarsely. Across the room, Bea was flipping through one of a dozen leather-bound albums, all filled with discs of family photos. With her imageviewer on her lap, she filed through the hundreds of photos. The tug from one emotion to another then back again nearly gave her whiplash.

She'd been at it for hours, trying to put together a chronological past for Faye in pictures. Bea had long ago accepted that it wasn't likely she would have very much time with her sister. Age crept up on her, shadows from the past crept up on her, both of them wielding their weapons of choice.

It would be dangerous for her children, for Faye, if they ever met and Bea hadn't much hope that she would be around to see Faye become familiar with them. Bea wanted to leave Faye with something at least. Something to remember them with. Or at least to know that she'd been loved. So fiercely loved. So fiercely missed.

Bea glanced at Ezekiel. "You don't look so good."

"I'm tired. I was up most of the night."

"You've been up for a few nights now. You should get some rest."

Ezekiel leaned his head back, tipped over the back of the couch too small for his tall frame. He rubbed his eyes, opened them and stared at the white ceiling. It was almost comparable to being asleep. It was like staring at the insides of his eyelids.

_Okay, it isn't._ But he couldn't sleep.

All sorts of shit was happening and while he was limited with what he could do given the heart problem that kept getting worse - increasingly worse now after just the past year – he needed to stay awake. He needed to be able to move on a moment's notice.

And it already took so much for him to move at all, let alone at a moment's notice.

"You won't be any good to Faye exhausted like this. Why don't you lie down and close your eyes for a while, at least. If you fall asleep I'll make sure to wake you up in an hour or so," Bea said. Ezekiel was happy that Bea was letting go of hassling him about seeing Faye.

"And when you wake up we'll discuss your seeing Faye."

_Dammit._

Ezekiel brought his legs up onto the couch beside him. Reluctantly he arranged one of Bea's sofa cushions beneath his head, and curled into himself. A moment later he felt the weight of an old, crocheted blanket settle over him.

"An hour, right? You'll wake me up in an hour."

"Yes, Ezekiel. For God's sake get some sleep. I'm exhausted just looking at you."

Bea returned to her chair, not getting back to her work until Ezekiel's eyes rolled back into his head, his eyes falling heavily closed. Once satisfied that he was asleep, she brought her imageviewer back onto her lap and continued piecing together the rise and fall of her family's legacy.

**You can't use a bulldozer  
To study orchids**

Spike knelt by Faye's sleeping form outlined beneath her worn, orange wool blanket. He listened to her deep breathing, the snoring he recently discovered could keep him awake at night.

He'd waited an hour and a half for her to finally fall asleep. He walked past her room several times and each time she was doing something different. First she was flipping through an old magazine, then she was painting her nails, then she was looking through that cookie tin of hers with all the old photos and letters.

Finally he peered into her room and found her asleep.

_I'm really sorry. I'm doing this for us._

Spike wondered about that for a minute.

He didn't want to risk waking her up, but at the same time he wanted to touch her. It wasn't that he doubted Faye loved him. Visibly distressed, Faye had still managed him a smile earlier tonight. The smile was phony but the emotion behind it, the intentions, were real.

She was afraid of losing him.

Outside her room, Spike unfolded the sheet of paper he'd scribbled the address for James and Nora Van Nuys. If he left now, he could be there by late tomorrow morning. Out in the hallway, he glanced backward one last time at Faye's sliding bedroom door. He followed the corridor that would take him to the hangar, then out into the city, dreading the long commute ahead of him. He didn't like trains.

He never had much luck with them.

**Why don't you stay until we're old  
And fall in love with life  
Why don't you stay until we're ghosts  
We'll only seem to die**

_Don't do this to us._

Faye listened to Spike's footsteps making their way along the corridor. She heard the first of a series of doors that would take him through to the hangar screech open, then clang shut. She'd held her breath and it came out in the form of a sob she smothered with her pillow.

She didn't know exactly where Spike was going, but she didn't have to. All she had to know was that he was breaking his promise. She was sadder for him than herself.

There was nothing to find. He was risking their happiness for _nothing_. The only thing he was doing was unearthing her past. He was the one who just a couple of weeks ago was all about leaving their former lives behind them.

_There's only us left._

She wasn't afraid that he would leave again. If she'd learned anything from the past couple of weeks it was that Spike was fiercely loyal. To Jet, to Julia, always to himself. And now to Faye.

No, she wasn't afraid he was going to leave her.

Faye was afraid she was going to leave him.

**Lyrics quoted from Pulp's _The Night That Minnie Timperly Died_ and The Magnetic Fields' _The Death of Ferdinand de Saussure, The Village in the Morning_. Please don't sue.**


	82. See The Thorn Twist In Your Side

Okay.

It's short. But then they're always pretty damn short. I wanted to get two chapters out within a week and I think I actually managed to do it. What day is this again?  
I hope you enjoy it. I'm going to try to keep up this 'chapter a week' thing at least for the next little while. We'll see how that goes.

I hope you're okay, too. I worry about you, you know.

I love you.

ssg.x.

* * *

Spike walked slowly along a quiet, tree-lined street in Bathurst, a small and affluent suburb in Cydonia. The neighbourhood that, according to records, James and Nora Van Nuys called home for the last three decades. 

Spike tried to remember the last time he saw a tree actually growing out of the ground. He was used to seeing only potted ones that decorated the entrances of malls, restaurants, and hotels. Trees, actual trees, were only found in places like these. Wealthy neighbourhoods inhabited by people who ran the same corporations that took the trees from the middle and lower class citizens to make room for their factories, offices and golf courses.

The street was carpeted with fallen leaves. Red, orange, brown. The thought of collecting some for Ed on the walk back to the train station quickly came and went from Spike's head as he found himself standing at the end of a long, paved driveway. A quick glance at the scribbled address in his hand confirmed it was the house he was looking for.

A small, slight, elderly woman answered the door and Spike thought he'd have to sweep her off the floor. He could hear the sound of her heart seizing in her chest, her eyes widening, her head shaking. A sound like 'God,' came from a gaping mouth. Spike sort of expected it but still couldn't be prepared for the reaction. He'd actually hoped she wasn't the one who answered the door.

Ezekiel's first wife, Nora Chadwick-Van Nuys.

"My name is Samuel," Spike explained quickly. He didn't think it was a good idea to introduce himself as Spike after clearly scaring the creases out of her sheets.

"Nora? Who is it?" a voice behind her called out. Nora's husband, James, joined his wife in the doorway when her lengthy silence probably began to worry him. He was taller than his wife, soft and round with white hair that was once a hellfire red. His clear, blue eyes were no longer the piercing, icy eyes of an arrogant, young musician. He was a man who had fallen in love with a woman, her children, her grandchildren. _Theirs._

"Who are you?" James demanded roughly.

_Jesus_, Spike thought. _Where do I even start?_

* * *

**See the stone set in your eye  
See the thorn twist in your side**

* * *

James sat in an armchair across the room, glaring none-too-subtly at Nora and Spike as she served him a cup of coffee and some scones that Spike ate much quicker than proper etiquette desired. 

Nora giggled. "Have as many as you'd like. I could also make you a sandwich if you're very hungry."

Spike nodded vigorously. Crumbs shaken loose from his lips fell into his lap. He smiled and mumbled something incoherent from around a third and fourth scone. It could have been 'yes, please'. Nora saw the mess he was making with the sandwich she quickly threw together for him and decided she should do the talking for a while.

She drew a photo album out from their bookshelf. James stood up, sighing noisily, and left the room. A second later a door could be heard closing heavily like an exclamation mark at the end of an angry outburst.

"James never liked that I kept this but just because my first marriage didn't work out, it doesn't change the fact that it happened. I cared for Ezekiel very much. I couldn't pretend I never loved him. It hurts James. He still doesn't quite understand, even after all these years," Nora explained.

Wedding photos.

"You'd be hard-pressed to find one where Ezekiel is smiling."

Spike could see that.

Struck once again by how physically similar he and Ezekiel were, Spike carefully wiped his hand across the lap of his workpants before tracing Ezekiel's strong jawline, lingering against the shaggy, dark brown hair he could almost feel against his skin. Ezekiel's eyes darkened, hardened with each photo. A slideshow of his heart breaking. The cracks growing, deepening and finally splitting the organ into too many pieces to put back together.

Spike frowned. Tracing the length of Ezekiel in his dark suit, the paisley design of a necktie snaking out from one of his trouser pockets, Spike for the first time began to wonder if he and Ezekiel had the same blood in their veins.

Nora looked quite a lot like Faye. The dark, bobbed hair. The eyes that narrowed in the sun, narrowed with her smile. But of course there was that thing missing. Something you'd only know if…

Well, something you'd only recognize if you'd ever been invited inside Faye to see it.

He missed her. _Jesus Christ, it's only been a few hours._

He'd forgotten Nora was sitting beside him. He coughed, wiped the moisture from his face with one of the paper napkins she'd offered him. He looked across at her apologetically.

Nora reached a hand out causing Spike to unintentionally flinch as it came to rest against his cheek. She brushed her fingers across his parted lips. Spike closed his eyes and turned away.

"I'm sorry, Samuel. You look so much like Ezekiel and I try to remember his face sometimes but I'm old now and I forget things. And these photos…Well, you can't really capture someone's soul in a photo album. He's lost to me. I wanted to help him but I could never be the girl he wanted. He died the same day she did, you know."

"I'm not Ezekiel," Spike said stupidly.

"Yes, I know that," Nora said quietly.

"Your husband, he was the one who found the body."

Nora gingerly placed the wedding album on the end table behind her.

"Yes, that's right."

"Would he talk to me about it?" Spike asked carefully.

"Go on into the den. I suspect he knows you have questions," she said.

Spike heard a radio playing on the other side of a slightly ajar door, and assuming it was the den, entered and found himself face to face with the barrel of an old glock, James' steady hand at the other end of it.

"Where did you come from? What do you want?" he growled. Spike stood coolly looking at the old man across the cold steel of the gun aimed at his head. Spike was a fuckwit when it came to handling emotions, but guns – well, Spike could handle a gun.

"Ezekiel's alive, isn't he?" he said steadily. It was a bluff. He wasn't a hundred percent sure. Hell, he wasn't even fifty percent sure. But Spike had a pretty wicked poker face.

"No," James spat. The gun wavered and James brought a second hand around the first one to steady the weapon.

"Your wife's face, _that's_ the face of a person who's just seen someone come back from the dead."

"Ezekiel is dead. He had a massive heart attack. It killed him almost instantly. I found him sprawled on the floor of his bathroom."

"Kitchen."

James cursed under his breath.

"Kitchen. _Whatever._ Look, I'll kill you if you don't get out of here right now."

Spike didn't move. James' lower lip quivered, his hands were shaking.

"Leave us alone," he pleaded, lowering the gun. "Please, just leave us alone. We've only got a few years left together, if that. Nora's very sick. Please."

James brought a hand over his eyes, fumbling to put the gun down on the desk behind him. He wiped his eyes and flopped down into a nearby armchair.

"I don't want to hurt anyone. I don't know who you think I am, but I'm not here to hurt you. I just need to know what happened to Ezekiel," Spike explained.

He sat down in an office chair at James' desk. James took a shaky breath and rubbed his hands together. Spike waited patiently for him to calm down. He offered James a cigarette and James took it. He took one out for himself, lit them both. They both seemed to relax in their chairs at the same time.

"Do you know Faye Spector?"

James laughed, "Jesus, who doesn't? You couldn't know one and not the other, you know? Her name's a blessing and a curse in the same sentence."

_Yeah, I understand that_, Spike laughed to himself.

James stared wistfully up at the ceiling, smiling. "When she had that accident it killed him. It really killed him. He turned into a different person. He tried everything to fill the hole she left in him. Nora was one of those things. If it wasn't for Faye, Nora may never have come into Ezekiel's life. My life. If it wasn't for Faye, Ezekiel might have loved Nora as much as she'd loved him back then. We never would have ended up together. A blessing and a curse, see what I mean?" He lowered his eyes back to Spike's, "She finally woke up, did she? And you're in love with her now, too."

Spike didn't answer. He didn't know if he could trust this man with any information. He didn't want to compromise the old man's safety, or Faye's. But Spike's eyes spoke unintentional volumes. Yes. _Yes._

James smiled, bemused, "So it's not just the looks, then, huh? You've got that same something in your blood, too. Maybe you are that dumb bastard back from the dead."

Spike cleared his throat but the words still came out hoarse, "Ezekiel's not dead, though."

James sobered. "No," he said. "But the guy I was best friends with is. Died a long time ago. And the shell of a man left behind…well, it's only a matter of time. The heart problems, they're real. If his heart doesn't give out on him -- and how it's managed to hold out for all these years I'll never know -- the people looking for him will take care of him. Sometimes I think Ezekiel sold his soul to the devil to have survived for this long."

Spike blinked, "So he's sick?"

"Oh yeah. For years now. But what do you expect? Pining takes a lot out of you, you know. He couldn't let that girl of yours go back then and he's been paying for it ever since." James took an extra long drag on his cigarette, rolling it between his thumb and index finger thoughtfully.

"Everyone around him's been paying for it, too."

* * *

**Lyrics quoted from U2's With Or Without You. Don't sue, please.**


	83. Impaled By Sense

So.

SpikeFayeSpikeFayeSpikeFaye…

Yeah.

ssg.x.

* * *

**You and I  
We're going so high  
The air is getting thin  
Our land does not breathe in  
We don't need oxygen** **

* * *

**

Spike lay across his orange couch in the dark. The air of the ship always felt the same. Hot or cold, day or night, there was always a clammy, oily settling on bare skin. Spike's thumb found and absently stroked the shallow pit of the cigarette burn just above his left nipple.

He heard the door to the bathroom slide open noisily in its grooves. Out stepped Faye silhouetted by the blue lights of the sconces lining the corridor. She was wearing another one of his t-shirts. Until she started wearing them he hadn't realized he'd had more than one.

_I don't know_, he thought. _Maybe it's always the same shirt_.

Maybe they shifted their shape, shadows and lines to suit her mood.

Her hair was up in a stumped ponytail and her neck was long and smooth and white. She looked like the old Faye, unaware of her beauty, unsuccessfully hiding the live electric wires of her sexuality beneath his baggy t-shirt.

_I could lose her._

"Hey Tutankhamun, how 'bout lighting a couple of candles in the ol' tomb?" she snarked.

_Hmm._

"So you're back," she said tenderly. She sat down in the armchair, curling her legs up under herself. He looked at her, still unmoving on the couch.

"Of course I'm back," he whispered. Faye's eyes looked like shiny, wet river stones, her shoulders and hair dusted with blue powder.

_I won't lose her._

"Do I want to know where you were?"

_He had his time with her._

Spike shook his head, "Probably not."

_I can make her happy._

He heard her sigh nondescriptly.

"Alright," she said. Spike stood up, turning his back on her.

"You're angry," he said.

"No," Faye replied gently. "I'm not. I'm worried."

"Worried about what?"

"I'm worried about what you'll find out. I'm afraid you'll –"

"There's nothing I could find out about you that would ever make me leave again."

Spike turned back around to face her. She was staring off softly into the darkness. "No, Spike, that's not it."

_Does she know he's alive?_

"He's dead, but he might not be dead in here," motioning to her chest, "and I'm afraid I'll forget myself again."

"You won't," Spike whispered earnestly. "I'll remind you." A loose fist came out and knocked against her shoulder playfully. "You're pretty fucking impossible to forget."

"So are you."

"You've tried, huh?"

"Tonnes of times," Faye said, smirking. Spike came back with a half-smile of his own.

Faye stood from the armchair, walked slowly towards him. Her arms slipped around him. She leaned her face against the side of his neck. His skin was warm and sticky with perspiration. She folded herself into the scent of him, stroked the soft, fresh bandages over his bullet wound. The smell of antiseptic, dry blood, cotton and cigarette smoke were all so familiar to her, so ridiculously therapeutic to her. A testament to Spike's own special ability to come back from just about anything. He was always changed when he returned, but always stronger.

Faye seemed to buckle against him. His arms came around her, his hand across her back held her tightly to him.

"That's why I'm scared," she said, her voice muffled by the solid flesh of his throat against her mouth. "It happened when I least expected it to. It happened while I was trying so badly not to forget you."

"It won't happen again," Spike said, distracted by her scent but still managing to keep the vow in tact. His fingers found the nape of her neck, then the elastic holding back her hair. He tugged at it, releasing the weight of her black, silky feathers into his waiting hand.

"You don't know that."

"You don't think I'd let you go, do you? You don't think I'd do everything in my power to keep you from forgetting me again?"

Her hair was soft and slick against the rough shadow of an emerging beard across his strong jawline and jutting chin. He caught her face between two strong hands. His lips parted, his mouth capturing the pink iridescence of her lips.

_Faye gives me strength. He had her once but she's mine now. I'm the stronger one now._

"Spike…" she sighed into his mouth. Every breath from her lips moved him, controlled him, filled his lungs and squeezed his heart.

_I'll get him out of your head._

"Spike…" she gasped. A tremor passed through his fingers beneath her t-shirt, vibrating against the breast held in his hand. His other hand vanished into the wet, inky darkness between them where their hips whispered to eachother. Her hand followed the trail of his and he grasped it, cupping the gentle yielding of her fingers against his hardness over the fabric of his boxers.

_I'll reach deep down inside you and pull him out._

"Faye, say my name."

The lightest touch was like thunder on his skin.

"Spike."

"No…I mean…"

Spike and Faye's eyes locked. Spike nodded, urging her on, letting her know she wasn't misunderstanding his meaning.

"Samuel…"

_Faye…_

"Say it again," he begged, voice hoarse.

"Samuel."

"I love you."

"I love you."

_She loves me._

It was the last translucent thought he had that night.

**

* * *

****Lyrics quoted from JJ72's _Oxygen_. Please don't sue.**


	84. Chaos And The Big Sea

So.

I'm a little happy right now. God forbid!

It's an interlude, I think. I'm sorry it's taken me so dang long to get this up. I didn't have time to write until this afternoon. I hope it's alright.

Thanks so much for continuing to read.

I love you.

ssg.x.

* * *

**And the whole world dragged us down  
****Not a sonnet not a sound  
****And the whole world turned aside  
****The cruelest hand just turned an eye**

* * *

"You know something."

Beatrice cradled one of Faye's china dolls against her chest, using a warm, wet cloth to gingerly wipe its large, glass eyes clear of dust. Ezekiel stood in the doorway of the small, dark room, pinned there by the sound of Bea's voice.

"What?"

"You know something. About Faye," she said, returning the doll to its place on the shelf.

"You don't know what you're talking about," he cringed, trying not to give away through any outward physical manifestations the acute pain in his chest at the mention of Faye's name.

It was no longer only a metaphoric shattering of his heart. He could feel every beat of it thundering steadily along every bone of his body. The sound of it in his ears was deafening when he was left alone with it at night. Sometimes he wanted Bea to keep talking to temper the sounds of his heart's panting in the darkest recesses of his skull, pull and stretch the fuse of the bomb in his chest ready to blow at any moment.

For the past two days Bea had done nothing but try to persuade him to see Faye. It was the only time he wanted her to be silent.

"Listen, I forget a lot of stuff because I'm old. Where I put my glasses, the year I was born, to pick up milk at the store on the way home from church. But I'm not senile. I can't forget that day you left me to marry Nora. The stains you left on my sister's dress when I wiped your bloody hands clean –"

Ezekiel's hand went up in a feeble attempt to silence her. His other hand covered his eyes. Abruptly he turned out of the room, fingers absently brushed against his chest on their way to his sides. He realized the apartment was too small for him to escape Bea. He began to pace the livingroom, thought about the broken lock on her bathroom door. There was nowhere to hide and she was advancing on him, the leg of another chinadoll dangling from one of Bea's small, clenched fists. He watched the doll swinging wildly and helplessly at the mercy of Bea's movements.

"You told me that day I couldn't possibly understand your pain because I'd never been inside her. I'd never touched her soul –"

"Shut up…" Ezekiel moaned. Bea was relentless.

"What is it? What do you know? What's keeping you from her?"

Ezekiel ran a hand through his hair. He shook his head stubbornly.

"Ezekiel…please. I'm just trying to understand."

"She's with someone. She's in love with someone else," he said. He grimaced as though the words were like poison on his tongue.

"Faye –"

"Don't say her name," he reminded her.

He turned away, gazing out through Bea's sliding doors, over the balcony's railing, off into nothing. His vision momentarily blurred accompanied by a second of disorientation, another ominous warning that the heart attack that would eventually kill him was always just two steps behind his every one.

"She's alive, Ezekiel. And she's okay. It's what you wanted –"

"_This is not what I wanted_!" he shouted, muscles tensing, the animal finally coming out of hibernation after so long. "Let's get one thing straight, Beatrice, _this_ is not what I wanted! For Christ's sake it's been fifty years! Things have changed…"

Bea momentarily looked as though she were going to swing the doll still in her grip and crack him over the head with it. Instead she dropped it onto the carpeted floor beneath them. Ezekiel fell back on the couch and she sat down beside him, taking his face in her hands.

"Shh…" she whispered, stroking his hair. He pulled her carefully against him, his violent shaking frightening her for a moment. Despite her frustration, she worried about getting him excited this way. She wasn't sure how much his heart could take. Her hand pressed against his chest and it could have been in her mind, but she swore she could feel it pressing into the hollow of her palm, ready to burst through the walls of flesh that contained it.

"Not that much has changed," she said gently, soothing the hungry parasite devouring him from within with the stroking of her fingers and the tenderness that moved them.

Ezekiel's head rested against her shoulder, his arms slackening around her frail body.

"I love her," he grieved. It was a ridiculous statement. Bea smiled sadly.

"Say her name, Ezekiel."

He was so tired. He was almost ready to go. If it wasn't for Bea holding him now, he could finally slip into the darkness he could forget himself in, lost forever like he was lost to her now. _Faye._

He shook. He cried. He swallowed.

And he spoke.

"Faye."

* * *

**I found some corrugated steel  
And banged it to the window with my heel  
And now nobody's going to get in**

* * *

Faye sat bolt upright, sweating, panting. Spike followed suit, a gun appearing in his hand from beneath the pillow he'd been sleeping on only moments before.

His eyes struggled to pierce the darkness that embraced them both in the dank, anonymous surroundings of his room, his vision distorted by his sheer exhaustion.

"Did you hear something?" he whispered.

Faye's arms wrapped around herself, feeling the clamminess of her own flesh, nails penetrating her own skin.

"I thought so. I don't know. I thought I heard my name." She shook her head fiercely, scattering sleep and spirits around her, "Maybe I was dreaming."

Spike threw the sheets back, climbing over Faye to get to the door, not wanting to take a chance. He pushed the door clear of his way, visibly gritting his teeth at its intermittent shrieking in its grooves, gun poised to aim and fire. The stark white of his skin made more startlingly so in its perfect contrast to the shadows that mapped out every tensing of his muscles.

Faye squeezed her eyes shut, pressed her hands over her ears. She jumped when she felt the weight of Spike's body returning to her side on the bed.

"I'm sorry. I woke you up for nothing. I'm being stupid," she said. Spike shrugged his shoulders.

"I'm the stupid one. I probably shouldn't be sleeping. It's not all that safe. If someone's going to kill you, nine out of ten times they find you in your bed to do it," he tried to grin but it was a bad joke. "And shaving. In the movies someone always gets killed shaving."

Faye forced herself to smile, "I haven't watched enough movies."

"Well, in all these old westerns some guy's shaving and then someone comes up behind him and kills him and the poor bastard watches it all in the mirror."

"So what you're telling me is that you're growing a beard?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, then. Me, too," she said. Spike grinned, relaxing and laying down beside her. Spike touched her cheek, kissed her.

"Scratchy," he said.

They laughed, lips meeting. Their kisses became more purposeful as Spike slowly coaxed Faye out from beneath her night terrors and back into his arms. Spike's gun swam at the foot of the bed, shifting and rolling without direction as they began to move against eachother beneath the sheets. Eventually it tumbled over the edge of the bed, noisily clanking against the cold floor.

Spike hardly heard it for the anticipation of hearing his name on her lips.

Faye hardly heard it for the whisperings of the dead speaking her own in her ear.

**

* * *

****Lyrics from House of Love's _Christine_ and Babybird's _Cornershop_ were used. Don't sue.**


	85. The F Word

So.

I have strepthroat and the biggest swollen lymphnode this side of ...well...my giant, swollen lymphnode. So the update took ages to make. On the bright side, my writer's block is shattered and the next update should happen some time within the next week or so.

I hope you're well. And if you're not, I hope it's not one of your lymphnodes.

I love you, my dear.

ssg.x.

**

* * *

**

**I'd go the whole wide world  
Just to find her**

* * *

"Okay…"

Jet stood in Ana's apartment doorway slowly trying to catch his breath. He wasn't sure Ana would buzz him into the lobby so he waited for someone to enter the building before him so he could get through the door behind them. He waited around for thirty-five minutes before anyone showed up. With so much time alone and without the distraction of a book, a coffee, or even a cigarette Jet began to think that maybe this was a stupid idea.

He'd betrayed Ana. He hadn't come right out and said he thought she was working for T.H.E.M. but he might as well have. What was killing him now was that he had to apologize for something he couldn't be entirely sorry for. Faye and Spike drove him up the wall and through the floor respectively, but they were all he had. The way they'd been pulling together amidst their pulling apart only further cemented his bond to these freaks.

"Okay…"

What was he supposed to do? He had to protect them. And he had to protect himself, too, for everyone's sake – including Ana's.

So if he did manage to get to the fourth floor, did manage to get his foot in the door before Ana had a chance to slam it in his face, what was he going to say? What could he apologize for?

"Okay…" Jet stammered.

Ana huffed impatiently, waiting for Jet to speak. Jet was also waiting for Jet to speak, also rather impatiently.

She was wearing red tartan pajama pants and a baggy blue sweatshirt. Her black hair hung heavily around her face, some of it sloppily gathered into a low ponytail. She was wearing her brown, thick-framed glasses. The same ones she'd put on after her shower the first time he'd visited her here. He remembered the fuzzy bathrobe she'd wrapped herself in, the belt cinched tight enough around her frame that for the first time since they'd met, he could see that she had breasts and a waist.

She'd touched his cold, artificial hand and hadn't flinched. And she'd made him the best cup of coffee he could ever remember having.

How could someone like that, someone so perfect for him, potentially be bad for him?

"Okay, before you slam the door in my face –" Jet began. Ana's eyebrow arched as though he'd just given her an idea, "lemme just say I'm sorry. I'm sorry I hurt you the way I did. I was only trying to keep Faye and Spike safe. You have to understand that I hate not knowing who's pulling all this shit on us. I hate it. And," Jet sighed as though readying himself to reveal a dark secret. He could hear Ana's breath catch in her throat in anticipation. "And I'm just not all that good at this relationship thing. I'm sort of flying by the seat of my pants."

Looking disappointed, Ana rolled her eyes. "Is that it?" she asked, poised to close the door again.

Jet jumped, "Oh! Wait!"

From behind his back he pulled out a small bouquet of purple pansies with more than half of its petals trailing all the way down the stairwell and out the lobby. He hadn't realized how hard he'd been clenching his cybernetic hand around the poor things on his way up here. They looked more like pulled weeds now than the pretty corsage he'd gotten her the night of the wrap-up party.

One of the reasons Jet found himself falling hard for Ana was that she wasn't any ordinary girl. She wasn't all that extraordinary either. She was this fantastic hybrid of extraordinarily ordinary.

Ana's eyes softened. Her lips parted into a stunning smile, her entire face coming to life. She laughed.

"Wow. I'm sorry I doubted you before. It _has_ been a while since you've gone a-courtin', hasn't it?"

Jet smiled, heavily exhaling his relief at being forgiven.

"I'm sorry," he said again.

Ana nodded, "I know."

She took the bunch of crushed flowers from his hand, admiring them with a smirk. "I'll dig out my defibrillator. I don't think water can help them now."

"Yeah. What a bunch of pansies," Jet said.

She reached out and slipped her arm around his waist. He leaned his head against the top of her head as they stepped into her foyer, closing the door behind them. Ana caught him wrinkling his nose in the hall mirror.

"Sorry," she said sheepishly. "I've pretty much been in these clothes since I got home from the ship."

"I can wait in the kitchen if you wanted to take a shower," Jet suggested. Ana closed the distance between them, her hands reaching up and pulling his face down to hers brazenly.

"Maybe you can help me get out of these clothes first?"

Pleasantly surprised by her request, Jet kissed her, nibbled her bottom lip. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against him.

"Yeah, I think I can do that."

* * *

Jet chewed his buttered post-coital bagel happily, silently. Ana grabbed a couple of mugs for some coffee from the massive stack of dirty dishes covering the majority of her counter space.

She sat down across from Jet who gratefully took one of the mugs. They shared a smile around their bagels.

"What are you thinking about?" Ana asked.

Jet grinned, shaking his head. "I almost didn't come over."

"Afraid I'd chew out your liver?"

"Sort of," he laughed. "I think I've stayed too long at the circus watching those two emotional acrobats hanging eachother from the rafters."

"Yeah," Ana said wryly, "they're pretty intense. What's happening there?"

"Jesus, where do I even start?"

"Rhetorical question?"

"No, seriously. I don't know where to start. It's like…two people who could have been good for eachother coming together after a lifetime of being beaten, dented, and kicked into the absolute _worst _people for eachother."

Ana stirred more cream into her coffee, "I see. And who gave who the crazy?"

"I don't know," Jet began, voice muffled around the last bite of bagel, "What came first – the chicken or the egg?"

"I feel like eggs," Ana said, walking over to the fridge. "Want me to fry you up a couple?"

"Thanks," Jet answered, "It's all about timing. Faye has feelings for Spike just as he's off to get his tail shot full of holes. He comes back with his tires blown out and his girlfriend dead. By the time he's got his feelings in check and decides to try to be happy, Faye's feelings get all mixed up."

Ana was leaned over with practically half her body on the second shelf of her refrigerator. "I can make us some omelettes if I can dig some cheese out of here. And find the damn eggs for that matter."

"Sounds good."

"So what changed Faye's mind about Spike – I mean besides the obvious?"

Jet shrugged his shoulders, "Someone else came into the picture. Ezekiel Chadwick. This guy from her past. It's complicated. I can explain better once I've finished my coffee."

Ana's head poked over the top of the open fridge door.

"Did you say Ezekiel Chadwick?"

Jet's eyebrows raised, "You know who he is?"

"Oh my God…" Ana gasped, finally climbing out of the fridge and closing it behind her. "Faye is _Faye. Faye's the F-word._"

"There are times she can definitely be some kind of f-word," Jet chuckled. "I'm not following you at all right now."

Ana returned to the table after swinging by the counter for the coffee pot. She filled Jet's half-empty mug to the top before refilling her own.

She smiled. "It's complicated. Coffee?"

* * *

**Lyrics from Wreckless Eric's _Whole Wide World_ were used. Don't sue, please.**


	86. The Guys Running The Show

So…

I'm finally over my strepthroat and I have a new psychiatrist. Happy New Year!

I wanted to get this up so if you see anything grammatically wonky please don't hesitate to let me know.

I love you.

ssg.x.

* * *

**Bluntly put  
****In the fewest of words  
****Cunts are still running the world**

* * *

"Well?" 

"Well _what_?"

Faye looked absolutely tiny seated on the floor with knees beneath her chin against one of the massive steel walls of the hangar.

Across the room, the Redtail looked gray and haunted, tombstone-like in the shadows and almost forgotten behind Jet's Hammerhead. Faye stared past Spike's long legs wondering how long she'd have to sit staring at the controls before remembering how to fly the damn thing.

It was all she could do to distract herself from Spike's glowering at her with eyes smouldering.

"You could have been killed, you dumb –"

"They want me alive."

"You think Riddler pays attention to shit like that? He's more than a couple of doughnuts short of a dozen. He fires off that gun like it's filled with water."

"I wanted to go outside. I needed to go out. I'm going stir-crazy on this fucking ship."

"You're not going crazy. Evidence has shown that you've been crazy for quite some time now."

Faye had been taking a shower when she very suddenly found herself short of breath. The matted steel walls and tiles of the shower seemed to be narrowing in on her, the ceiling swiftly dropping towards her, threatening to crush her. She began clawing at her own skin, nails pointed and purposeful with panic. If she tore the skin and muscle from her bones she could free herself. She felt the heat and sting trailing her nails across her breasts, her throat, her belly.

_I need to get out of here._

She was having a full-on panic attack.

She reached out for the shower curtain, pulling at it violently. The sound of the plastic being torn from its rings one by one – _pop, pop, pop, pop_ – was loud and fast like machine-gunfire.

She wrapped herself in the curtain and made a run for her room. She tripped, legs tangling in the stiff plastic. She hit the floor heavily with a wet _splat_, groaning as she got back on her feet and stumbled the rest of the way to her room.

The next thing she knew, she was walking briskly along the dock, her kitten heels catching every few strides between the wooden slats beneath her. Having exhausted Spike's limited wardrobe of trackpants, boxers and undershirts, Faye's claustrophobia-induced desperation drove her to pull her bloodied jade dress from the hook on her wall.

Feeling solid ground under her feet, she started to run. She looked back over her shoulder, seeing the ship slowly shrinking into the background as she drew further and further away. The sun was out and the air was brisk. Her entire body tingled as early winter's frost seemed to settle on her damp skin and hair.

For a few fleeting moments Faye's thoughts only concerned herself. She listened to her body, the inhales and exhales, her heart thumping in her ears, the sound of her feet hitting the ground. She heard the stiff layers of her skirt buzzing around her legs as she ran.

Faye felt fantastic. Even the fear that chased her out here into the street felt good.

_It's beautiful. It's all so scary and beautiful._

Faye began to laugh breathlessly in spite of herself.

"So, what…you're ignoring me now?"

Faye was brought back to the present, yanked by the unyielding harshness of Spike's voice.

"I'm not ignoring you. I just…I can't explain it. I just needed to get out. I felt like I couldn't breathe," she snapped. She hated this particular Spike, the one that treated her like a child. This Spike kept her safe but to the point of breaking her ribs with the same hands that wanted to protect her.

"You've got a fucking bounty on your head! You used to be a bounty hunter. We used to do stakeouts all the time! You didn't think there'd be one or two waiting around the corner for you?" Spike was fuming. His hands reached weakly for her, "He could have killed you. I know they want you alive but Riddler…Riddler's fucking nuts, Faye."

Faye didn't answer, didn't look at him.

"Do you know why he's called the Riddler?" Spike knelt down in front of her so they were eye-to-eye. "It's not some cute cartoon nickname. He's possibly the only bounty hunter I know who isn't interested in the money. He likes the kill. He likes to shoot his gun. He likes to _riddle his target with bullets. _And he doesn't care if the target's a man or a woman. He fires his gun like he's got a blindfold on. He'll shoot until he hears something hit the ground."

Faye's chin wobbled, "I can't stand when you talk to me like this. I'm not stupid. I knew there were risks. I just needed to get out and I wasn't thinking about bounty hunters. I wasn't thinking about anything. It was good. It felt so good to not think about anything but being outside." She sobbed, "I hate that I have to hide out like some sort of rodent. I hate that this is making me weak and I hate that you have to protect me. I'm not weak. _I'm not weak_, _Spike_."

She folded in on herself, her chin dropping between her knees, her lips trembling beneath her long, dark bangs. Spike sighed. He reached out and took one of her hands in his own.

"I know you're not weak, Faye. And I don't think you're stupid - it's just the opposite. That's why I'm being so hard on you right now. You know better. You were running down the street in a blood-stained dress. The last thing you need to be doing right now is calling more attention to yourself," Spike explained earnestly. "I haven't slept, Faye. For days. I'm afraid to, okay? If something were to happen while I was asleep --"

Faye squeezed the bridge of her nose between her index finger and thumb. She exhaled heavily, "I'm not doing this _to you_, Spike. I'm not trying to punish you. You know on any day of the week I could take care of a nobody like Riddler in a matter of minutes. He came out of nowhere is all. He was just lucky. He caught me off guard."

She had been running and laughing, had closed her eyes for a length of time and felt the biting wind against her face. She slowed to a stop, leaning over with hands on her knees, still giggling and trying to catch her breath.

A bullet struck the concrete by her left foot, another one hit the ground about a foot or two in front of her. She stumbled back, looking up.

The Riddler was wearing jeans, suspenders and police boots. He was also wearing a bowler atop his shaved head. Faye had always thought that's where the nickname came from. He was dressed up like something straight out of a comic book. He had the crooked, squared-off nose of a Dick Tracy villain. She'd run into him a couple of times at the dog track. He was as good at guessing the winners as she was so their acquaintance had been brief by nature.

"Well look who's all dressed up with nowhere to go but Hell," he called about twenty feet ahead of her, "Whose funeral finally got you out here? I've been waiting at least three days."

Faye carefully straightened, "Haven't climbed into the saddle of the high hog at the races yet, huh? Still working the day job?" Trying to sound like the Faye Riddler remembered from the track. Confident. Strong. Gun-toting.

"I just really love my job," he replied.

"It's the guns, isn't it? Guys always like to shoot their big guns when their wrists are broken, if you know what I'm saying."

Faye's legs felt like rubber. She finally felt the pain of her exertions in her ankles, the rawness in her throat and burning in her lungs. She didn't trust herself to take a step. She was afraid she'd end up a sprawled sitting duck in the street.

On a good day the barrel of dick jokes was bottomless, but it would be an understatement to say Faye hadn't been herself lately.

Riddler grinned, "That's a real pretty dress you got on there, Valentine. Looks a little worn, though. I would have held out for a few more before popping Calhoun the way you did."

Faye's stomach roiled, "That wasn't me."

"Meh. I'm not interested in any of that. This is the part I like," Riddler took a step back and aimed his gun.

"You're gonna shoot me out here in the street? You're crap at picking dogs but you can't be so dumb you'd kill me here in front of people," Faye said steadily, starting to feel the beads of sweat moving down her back.

"You've never been on the other side of the table have you? The rules change. This is my job. You're the criminal. I like to pride myself on my desire, nay – my obligation – to keep the public safe," Riddler grinned, placing his hand over his heart.

"You can't kill me. I'm wanted alive," Faye said, her voice beginning to shake.

"Yeah. Well, I'll do my best. I've never been known as a crackshot so it may take a bullet or two, or five. Or ten."

And then he started to shoot. Faye's immediate instinct was to cover her ears and crouch to the ground like a frightened animal. And that's exactly what he wanted.

"Come on, Valentine! It doesn't do a thing for me 'less you run! The running's the part I like best," he laughed.

Riddler raised his gun again. He let another bullet fly and she heard the buzz of it in her right ear. She shivered but she was going to be damned if he was going to see her scared again. She'd had enough of that. She tried to summon Faye Valentine from deep inside her. Faye Valentine would know what to do.

And so would Spike Spiegel.

And so he did.

The Riddler's eyes suddenly widened, then narrowed angrily. Out from behind his hulking form appeared Spike, a shopping bag in one hand and a gun with its barrel pressed into the nape of Riddler's neck in the other.

"I'll take your legs out from under you if you even think about firing that gun in her direction again."

"I thought blondes were more your thing," Riddler chuckled.

"Faye," Spike spoke, regarding the back of Riddler's head coolly.

Faye found her voice, "Yeah?"

Without looking at her he said, "Get back to the ship."

"Spike –"

"Get back to the ship. I'll deal with you later."

_Deal with me later?_

"Spike –" angry this time.

Spike's eyes flashed in her direction, "Faye, get back to the fucking ship!"

"Having a hard time keeping the old lady in line, huh?" Riddler piped in. He fell to the ground after receiving a swift and solid pistol whipping.

Spike glared across at Faye. Faye glared back.

"I'm going inside."

"Finally."

Faye started marching back towards the dock. She yelled back over her shoulder, "I'm not going back because you told me to! I'm going back because I'm getting a blister from these fucking shoes!"

"Whatever," Spike huffed, trying to roll the Riddler's beefy form onto his back.

"Whatever!" she shouted.

* * *

Later that evening, after Spike had a couple of cigarettes and Faye had finished the shower she'd started earlier that day, he met her in the main room. In his hand he held the handles of the shopping bag she'd noticed him with when he'd stepped in between her and the Riddler. 

"I got these for you," he handed her the bag awkwardly.

Faye looked inside. Sneakers and a pair of green cargo pants. A black sweater.

"Where'd you get these from? You're totally broke. I checked all your drawers."

Spike looked across the couch at her sharply.

"For socks," Faye amended.

"Don't ask me how or where, okay? I just thought you needed something to wear other than my old undershirts and boxers," Spike said, looking away.

It was a gift. Spike had gotten her a gift.

Sure, she couldn't wear the sneakers around her neck or anything and the cargo pants were a hideous shade of snot green, but if it wouldn't have made her look like more of a fruitcake than Spike already thought her to be, she'd have hugged the clothes tightly to her chest like some mothers hugged their children. She felt like an idiot in front of him right now but her eyes were welling up.

"Thanks."

"I thought you could wear them tonight."

Faye blinked, "What's tonight?"

"Nothing special. It's a night like any other night. But I thought about what you were saying. And you should go out. For a walk at least."

Faye looked at him uneasily, "Really? Alone? You're okay with that?"

Spike shrugged his shoulders, "You said something about compromise or some junk like that once. I think at the time we were arguing over whether to do it with the lights on or off but I guess it applies here, too."

_Compromise?_

Faye was floored.

"So," Spike began, "Here's the deal…"

Within an hour, Faye was walking down the strip alone on a Saturday night, milling slowly through the throngs of weekend clubbers and bar-hoppers. There wasn't a single crease of worry on her face. She looked up at all the neon lights with wonder, let the sounds, the voices and music around her run in and out of her ears like water. Her heart felt as though it might burst in her chest.

For the first time since she'd woken up to this world four years ago she found herself embracing this new and strange universe, and for the first time she felt it embracing her in return.

She looked back over her shoulder, winking flirtatiously at the green-haired gentleman walking no less and no more than twenty feet behind her at all times.

Spike smiled and winked back marveling at how easy this compromise thing was turning out to be and wondering why he'd never bothered with it sooner.

**

* * *

**

**Lyrics from Jarvis Cocker's _Running The World_. Don't sue, please.**


	87. Friday's A Funeral, Saturday's A Bride

Holy crap.

I took a long time to update. I'm really sorry. I think this is a longer chapter than I usually post but it always looks and feels longer when I'm typing it than it does when I actually upload it. I'm so sorry.

I hope you're well.

I love you.

ssg.x.

* * *

**You're a Sugar World  
To me you're champagne or Ruhr wine  
Will you make up your mind?  
You're lemon or you're lime  
You're pecan or praline  
You're sky bar or cloud nine**

* * *

"Is this a piece of Noah's Ark?" Jet regarded the bit of wood in its small, protective display case, "Jesus' cross, maybe?" 

Ana tapped the glass frame on the wall behind her proudly, "Behold the certificate of authenticity."

"It's a piece of a guitar?" he chuckled, briefly scanning the precious document.

Ana huffed with mock indignation, "It belonged to Ezekiel. He broke it by smashing it over some guy's head during one of Nadsat's first real shows back towards the beginning of the century when they were still in highschool." She took the box holding the small chunk of wood and accompanying splinters carefully into her hands.

Jet had never been given the full tour of Ana's apartment but for the most part there wasn't much to see. There was a kitchen area that housed an assortment of teas and coffees grounds. The space under the counter was the place where old pizza and Chinese takeout boxes went to die. Every wall in the apartment was beige with the exception of the bathroom which was a startlingly obscene shade of peach. Rather than repainting, Ana had chosen to cover the walls with different kinds of rugs and wall hangings. All apart from the second bedroom Jet hadn't seen until today.

Apparently Ana was a Nadsat fanatic. Her parents had been huge fans of the band back when they were teenagers, had even followed them around on tour in lieu of a honeymoon. They'd passed on their Nadsatanic rituals onto Ana. It kept her emotionally connected to her parents even through her difficult highschool years. During a time when she had absolutely nothing in common with her parents, she had Nadsat.

The room was a virtual shrine to the band made up of things Ana had collected over the years and other relics passed down to her from her parents. Compact discs and liner notes mounted and framed on the walls. Dozens of posters, a torn t-shirt once belonging to the band's drummer that Ana had sustained several bruises and a swollen lip for after winning it in a not-so-silent rock memorabilia auction.

"You'd be amazed how much stuff you can buy when you don't piss away all your hard-earned cash on stuff like vegetables, medication, or a social life," Ana said.

"You said Faye was the f-word. What does that mean exactly?" Jet asked, reaching out to touch the glass frame holding the tattered, black t-shirt.

Ana took her mug of coffee and sipped. "The story is that the lead singer's friendship with Ezekiel began to fall apart after Faye Spector's death. Even dead though, Faye's always been the band's yoko."

"So she's the f-word," Jet concluded wryly.

"Yep. I always thought it was kind of clever but having recently become acquainted with the f-word, I feel sort of guilty now."

"Stick around. When things are back to normal you'll find at times you'll have absolutely no problem referring to Faye as 'the f-word'," Jet said. He wondered if he should try to use Ana's in-depth knowledge of the band to their advantage. He quashed the voice inside his head telling him that confiding in Ana might still be a bad idea.

"If I tell you something can you promise me you won't say a word to the f-wor – Faye?"

Ana carefully replaced the guitar shrapnel in her cabinet. There was a light in her eyes she tried to hide behind the task. She pushed her glasses up on her nose. Turning to face Jet, she offered him her hand. Jet took it and she squeezed gently. He couldn't help blushing.

Being able to make a woman happy was still new to him.

"I promise," she said quietly.

"What do you know about Ezekiel?" he asked.

"Geez. Where do I start? Um…he was born American. When he was nine his father moved the family to Singapore to teach English. Ezekiel's parents were both evangelical born-again Christians who didn't really approve of some of his choices, including his band and Faye. Eventually he broke off all contact with them. He had a reputation for being pretty surly after Faye's accident."

"Hence the guitar bashing?" Jet interjected.

Ana nodded, "The story is that Faye had been out to see one of his shows and some guy decided to push up on her. Ezekiel climbed down from the stage and knocked the kid's teeth loose from his head. Nearly killed him."

"How romantic," Jet commented wryly.

"Ezekiel died young," she said. "He had a heart attack when he was thirty not long after the band broke up. He didn't die happy. Faye was dead. Or asleep. In any case Faye never woke up," Ana said somberly. "Well, I guess she did wake up."

Jet sighed, "She lost a lot of her memory. Stuff's been coming back to her slowly but pretty steadily over the past few months, I guess. Memories of Ezekiel and who he was to her are fresh. For her his death is all just happening. But…" his voice trailed off into a faint hum in the back of his throat. He looked up at Ana uneasily.

_You have to trust her._

"We're starting to think he might not be dead after all."

Ana's eyes widened, "Not dead?"

"We _think_. We're not sure," Jet emphasized.

"Is this like an Elvis thing? Was Ezekiel spotted eating a dagwood at a Dine'n'Ride somewhere on Ganymede?" Ana was only half-joking.

Jet shook his head. This time without hesitation he said, "No. Ana, I don't want to put you in any danger but we could probably use your help."

"Help you find him?"

"Yes," Jet replied.

Ana was quiet for the longest time. Jet began to grow nervous.

"Ana? What are you thinking about?"

She looked back up at him, beaming. "I'd love to help," she laughed.

Jet put his arm around Ana's waist, drawing her close, "How about some eggs?" he asked.

"Sure. Let's go."

Ana followed Jet out into the corridor, "Wow. Do you think I'll get to meet him if he's alive? Maybe there'll be a Nadsat reunion! I mean a few of them are dead but that never stopped those Pussycat Dolls. The liver spots and hair loss didn't stop them either."

Jet rolled his eyes at her, chuckling.

"Hey, don't make fun," Ana laughed. "When I was twelve this was the stuff bad pre-teen fanfiction was made of."

* * *

**Friday's a funeral  
and Saturday's a bride  
Sey's got a pistol on the register side  
and the goddamn delivery trucks  
they make too much noise  
and we don't get our butter  
delivered no more  
In the neighborhood**

* * *

"Spike, where are you going?" 

Spike turned his head, looking back over his shoulder at Faye. He turned his attention back to zipping up his parka. He paused before answering but this time the only thing keeping him from telling her was the snaggle-toothed zipper of his jacket getting jammed halfway up his torso.

"I'm going to see your sister," he replied, impressed by the frank and forthright honesty of his tone.

Faye looked a little surprised too. "I asked you not to dig up my past. I know you're all about tying up loose ends but that never gets us anywhere."

"It's not like that. I'm not digging. _Your_ sister got in touch with _me_ -- she says she wants to talk." Spike tore at his zipper with frustration, "Jesus, what the hell's wrong with this stupid thing?"

Faye approached him, gently taking his hands away from his jacket.

"How did she get in touch with you? Is she alright? Why would she contact you and not me?" She gave the zipper one good yank and pulled it up to his throat nearly catching his adam's apple in it. Spike didn't flinch.

"She's alright. And I don't know. She told me she wants me to pick up a few things that once belonged to you. Maybe she just doesn't want to get you all emotional again or something. I got the information last night through an audio message sent to Jet's terminal. She made it clear that it wasn't urgent enough that I needed to get there right away. She's not expecting me until this afternoon."

Faye stood shivering in a black t-shirt unconvinced that this wasn't another episode of Spike's disturbing desire to close the book on her past. She pinned several errant strays of her black hair behind her ear, held onto her elbows, rocked her weight from one leg to the other.

"I'm not comfortable with this," she said uneasily.

"You're shaking, Faye. Get back inside and sleep a little longer. It's still early. I'll be back in a few hours," he said.

Whether it was the icy air, stale and settling around them, or the uncertainty in Faye's eyes, Spike wasn't sure, but he found himself compelled to reach for her and keep her warm. He wrapped her in his arms, pulled her firmly against him. He pressed his lips to her ear.

"We'll leave here tonight," he whispered. He licked his dry lips nervously. He knew there would be no hesitation. He had no doubt that this Faye, the one that loved him in such a fashion that a life afforded to him without it might as well be a death sentence, would follow him to the ends of the universe. But he'd had bad luck with elopement in the past. The shadow of doubt still loomed largely in the background.

Faye pulled away but he held tightly to her hands.

"You'll catch a cold."

"What do you mean we'll leave? Where will we go?" she asked. Moments like this reminded him of the younger Faye from the video. Her eyes wide and searching, her hands fumbling awkwardly at her sides or in a tangle in front of her.

"We'll leave the ship tonight. We'll forget all about the movie. We'll leave all this shit behind us. We'll find somewhere to go. I know every nook and cranny in this universe; I'll find us somewhere safe to live."

Faye searched his expression for an ounce of humour or sliver of insanity. She couldn't find either of those things. In case her eyes were deceiving her, she asked.

"Where's this coming from?"

Spike shrugged his shoulders, "Common sense, I think. We're not safe here."

"_I'm_ not safe here," Faye said, freeing her hands from his.

"That's what I said. _We're_ not safe here," he reached for her but she backed away, "What's the matter with you? I thought you'd want this."

Faye shook her head, "I know. I do. But I don't know where this is all coming from all of a sudden. Is something wrong?"

"No," Spike replied, setting his jaw. He hauled her back into his arms, against his chest. "You don't have anything to pack. Nothing here was ever really ours to begin with. I don't have the Swordfish to worry about anymore and you can sell the Redtail. We'll leave Jet some money. We'll use the rest to find somewhere to live."

"Okay, slow down," Faye interrupted frantically. She cupped his face between her hands. "Really, Spike, what's going on? You're up and showered and dressed before I even open my eyes this morning. You were going to see my sister behind my back –"

"That's not fair," Spike snapped, looking away from her. His eyes returned to hers, stormy and dark, "I wasn't going anywhere behind your back. Your sister asked me to see her. You can come with me if you really want to. I wasn't sneaking off there without your knowing. You asked me where I was going and I told you –"

"Why are you being so erratic? Why are you picking a fight with me?" Faye demanded angrily.

_Christ! What the hell are you talking about?_

"What the hell are you talking about?" Spike yelled incredulously. "I'm not picking a fight! _You're_ picking a fight! You're acting nuts!"

"Oh, okay! You're gonna roll out the crazy jokes now?" Faye shouted.

Spike reeled, "Jesus Christ, Faye!" He pushed past her, stomping through the corridor towards the doors that would take him out onto the ship's hull. Faye padded after him in the blue sneakers Spike had given her. His fingers stabbed out the code for the outer doors' operating system. They hummed open. Spike's fists drilled into his jacket pockets.

"I'm not going anywhere with you! I don't want to end up like the last girl you tried to run away with!" she hissed.

After a beat or so --

"I thought you'd want this," he said quietly.

Faye frowned. Her chin wobbled. Her eyes bore heart-heavy tears.

"I'm afraid. None of this seems real. You hated me once –"

"I never hated you," Spike cut in firmly. He continued to stare out between the open steel doors. She hated not being able to read his expression. She hated not knowing whether he was going to turn and hold her or turn and hold her tightly around her neck.

"Let me finish," she said quietly. Her voice trembled delicately over the knot that was her tongue. "You hated me once. When you woke up in the hospital and saw me instead of her – I'm sure of it."

Spike shook his head but said nothing.

"And then you didn't. And then you loved me," Faye sighed. She took two steps towards him and then stopped. His back was up. His shoulders were tense. She closed the space between them and weaved her arms through his. His arms became fluid at the eager touch of her hands. There was an ache in his stomach where her fingers rested. He cupped one of his hands in front of him over hers.

"I don't understand," he said.

"What happens when we leave the ship? What happens when Jet's not around to fix stuff or do the dishes or tear us off eachother when we're fighting over the shower?"

Spike chuckled.

"And I can't cook," she said abysmally.

Another laugh.

"It's not funny," Faye insisted. "The first time you kissed me was over there," she said, motioning behind them with her chin. "What happens to us when we leave here? Do we get jobs? Guns are all we know – at least they're all I know. And not lately. Do we keep bounty-hunting? Do couples do that? It's not normal. We're not normal."

"We're not vampires. We're not gonna wither and die in the sun," he said. "Actually you could use some sun," Spike finally turned to look at Faye, grinning. On seeing the unamused look on Faye's face, though, he sobered fast.

"Are you done?"

"Yeah, alright. I'm done," he said, coughing the last giggle into a hand against his mouth.

"There are going to be guys out there looking for me. And there are going to be women out there."

"Women?" Spike arched an eyebrow. Faye shrugged her shoulders. How could she explain? Would she sound stupid if she told him she was scared of what might happen to them outside of the ship? She knew her role on the ship. Her relationships with these people kept her knowing who she was. Could Spike do it alone?

How would their relationship fare out there? What was Spike like outside of the boundaries – both physical and emotional – that the ship had provided them with? Jet had long been established as the patriarch of their motley bunch. Would Spike become the man of the house? Would she become the little woman?

_Jesus – he doesn't want to get married, does he?_

What she worried about most was whether or not they'd be able to survive the outside world. The outside world hadn't done too much good for them so far. Their strange coupling might not be able to weather what was out there. Normal was out there. It was everywhere. Despite all the strip joints and fetish outfits and sexual openness lining the streets just blocks away from where they were docked, despite all the advances in technology bringing together people who had always felt isolated in the past for their uncommon interests or secret desires, people still wanted to be relatively ordinary on the outside. They still wanted to fit in. People still wanted to be loved.

_You're nobody 'til somebody loves you._

Yeah, it's awful but it's sort of true. And that's what was always going to keep humanity from reaching that level of freedom they keep thinking they already have.

Or maybe Faye was just thinking out of her ass.

She didn't know the answers to any of these questions. And Spike. Would he keep dodging them with jokes and wise-ass remarks? Faye sighed resignedly. Her arms fell heavily at her sides.

The kisses, the declarations of love, the ghosts of bloody noses, scraped knuckles, and twisted ankles that lead them to the inevitable now permeated every corner of this ship.

He wanted to leave for good but this time he wanted her to go with him. Had she completely lost her mind? Nothing should be holding her back.

But they say you can never go home again.

And…

"It all happened here," she said sadly.

Spike brought her close to him. He lightly kissed her ear and along her jaw. His fingertips chased the neckline of her t-shirt. He took one of her thin wrists into his hand and brought it around his neck. When she leaned her head against his chest she could hear his heart beating even through the heavy fabric of his parka. She let her fingers get lost in the soft mesh of his curls and leaned her head against his chest. He took her other wrist, guiding her hand to the impassioned organ behind it. She felt it swell and sigh in the palm of her hand.

"Actually, it all happened here," he said.

Faye pressed herself further into Spike's embrace.

_Okay._

"Let's blow this popstand."

* * *

**Lyrics quoted from The Magnetic Fields' _Sugar World_ and Tom Wait's _In The Neighborhood. _Don't sue me, please.**


	88. There's So Much To Hate You For

So.

I didn't proofread this. If it's chock full of typo-y goodness that's entirely my fault for being lazy. I do hope that despite the typos you enjoy it, though. I'm never too lazy to care.

Thanks so much for still reading.

ssg.x.

**

* * *

I wish I had a very bad  
And evil twin to do my will  
To cull and conquer  
Cut and kill  
Just like I would  
If I weren't good  
And if I knew  
Where to begin**

* * *

Through his eyelashes, Ezekiel was just able to make out the fuzzy shape of Beatrice moving quickly from her bedroom to the kitchen to the bathroom and back again. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets and rubbed the sleep from them.

Beatrice was wearing one of her autumn church outfits. She was wearing lipstick and the faintest hint of blush.

"What's going on? It can't be Sunday already."

Beatrice paused mid-step. She looked down at him as he rolled from his horizontal position on the couch into an upright one with her parents' old quilt wrapped around his shoulders. Her gaze was laden with concern.

"Faye is leaving town," she said.

Ezekiel's head cocked to one side. "What?"

Bea sat down beside him. Her fingers weaved together on her lap, "She's leaving town. And before you ask, I don't know where she's headed."

Ezekiel's eyes widened, "How did you find this out?" then in almost a panic, "She wasn't here, was she?"

"No, of course she wasn't here. I tried to get in touch with her and ended up leaving a message with…" Beatrice hesitated.

"With Spike. I know his name, Bea," Ezekiel said stiffly.

"Anyways, I thought I'd meet him to give him the image discs I've been compiling for Faye. She may never be ready for them, but in case she ever is I want her to have access to as many of our memories as she can. Spike explained that he would have to pick them up as soon as possible because they were planning on leaving the ship together."

Ezekiel was silent for the longest time.

"It's too soon," he said.

"Too soon for what?" Beatrice asked tenderly.

Ezekiel reached back over his shoulder, massaging the nape of his neck. He sighed.

"How am I going to protect both of you? If I do that I have to follow her from the moment she leaves to make sure I don't lose her. We don't know when that is –"

"Tonight. They're leaving tonight."

"Jesus Christ. Bea…" Ezekiel reached for her hand. She offered it to him. He stroked her fingers. She waited patiently for the words he knew he had to say. Hers had been ready for a few years now.

His face contorted painfully as though he were ready to cry. Bea shushed him and smiled sadly.

"Ezekiel, you can't protect us both. I've lived my life. Faye hasn't had the chance to live hers. I've lived a long time alone, I can't see my children or my grandchildren. This apartment's been a prison for me for the past few years," she explained kindly.

"It's my fault," he whispered.

Beatrice reached for his chin, jerking it in her direction. Her eyes shimmered with tears, the green within still as smouldering as ever. "This is not your fault, Ezekiel. Don't ever think that. I won't be around to remind you," she insisted fiercely.

"I won't go. I'll stay and take care of you," he said desperately.

"You don't mean that."

"I do. I couldn't forgive myself if something happened to you."

He sobbed and crumpled against her. Bea grabbed his shoulders and shook him.

"You'd stay here to protect an old woman whose time is almost up anyways instead of a girl who has her whole life ahead of herself?" she almost shouted. "You can barely take care of yourself! How do you expect to take care of me, too? I've lived a long time with no one but my own shadow to watch my back! I don't need you looking out for me! You didn't do this! This is not your fault! You owe me nothing!"

Ezekiel sighed shakily.

Beatrice continued, "You'll use the little time you have left in this universe to ensure that my sister is safe. I'll give you some things to pass along to her. The money I've put away for her – she'll need the banking information. I can't leave it with Spike. I don't really know him. I don't know how much I can trust him with. You'll take it to her. "

"No," Ezekiel said hoarsely, "I can't."

Beatrice was insistent, "You will because I asked you to. You'll do it for me."

Every muscle in Ezekiel's body seemed to go lax at once. For a moment, Beatrice remarked, he looked like the eighteen-year-old boy who first stole Faye's heart, her own heart, so many years ago. The same boy who lost her before he could truly have her.

The fire in his eyes died leaving nothing but blackness behind.

"This has to stop."

Beatrice leaned closer, not immediately understanding his meaning and thinking it was because she'd not heard him properly.

"Ezekiel?"

Ezekiel said, louder the second time, "This has to stop."

"What has to stop?"

"You're right. She has her whole life ahead of her. And she has someone to share it with. Why would I ruin it for her?"

"I can't believe what I'm hearing… How can you trust that she'll be safe with this guy? She's your entire life!" Beatrice shouted incredulously.

Ezekiel stood from the couch. He turned his back to her.

"He'll protect her, I'm sure of it. I'll figure out the rest myself. I'll find a way to take care of the people who've ruined our lives. Faye and I – it's over. They destroyed us but I won't let them destroy Faye. Let her have some happiness." Ezekiel took a shaky breath, gaining momentum as his resolve strengthened.

Beatrice wasn't falling for it.

"You're a selfish bastard," she whispered.

"Don't, Bea," he said tiredly.

"Don't what? Don't say what you're thinking out loud?"

"Bea—"

"You can't stand to see her with someone else. You were your usual miserable self a couple of weeks ago but you were relentless. I had to practically knock you out with a frying pan to get you to lie down and close your eyes for a few minutes. She's been the sun you've been spinning around for so long. You can't tell me you've suddenly decided you're going to 'let her have some happiness' now."

"I don't give a shit what you think about it, okay? I just want this all to stop."

"You found out about Faye and Spike and now you're risking her life just so you don't have to see them together. You don't have to be constantly reminded –"

Without another word he disappeared into the kitchen. He returned and without a word dropped a disc into her lap then exited the room again via the bathroom.

"This came last night after you'd gone to bed," Ezekiel finally explained under the duress of a forced mask of calmness.

Beatrice glanced down at the disc, confused. She eased herself off to the edge of the couch, reaching for her laptop viewer on the coffee table. After loading up she popped the disc into the player.

There was nothing for a moment. The screen was black. She could make out voices – a man and a woman's, neither loud enough for her to hear what they were saying.

Abruptly, there was the swinging of a camera. Two figures standing face to face. The camera focused and refocused.

Faye and Spike.

She couldn't hear what they were saying to eachother, their voices little more than hums. In an instant, though, the words wouldn't have mattered anyways. His hands were on her hips, his mouth on hers. Faye responded in kind. She kissed him back, her hands leaping to pull herself against him, her fingers bent and pressing into his back.

The camera continued to blur and correct itself as Faye pulled Spike's t-shirt up over his head and his hand disappeared beneath her top.

Beatrice wondered how much Ezekiel had managed to watch. The first kiss? The second?

They fell to the bed, slowly fumbled with the discarding of their clothes. Spike seemed to wrap themselves carefully in the blankets on the bed. The meeting of their lips again and again – a knife in Ezekiel's chest for every point at which their bodies connected…

_Oh, Ezekiel…_

"I'm not strong enough."

Beatrice jumped at the sound of Ezekiel's voice behind her. She turned her head to see him leaning heavily against the livingroom's entranceway.

"You're right. I'm selfish."

"I admit it couldn't have been easy for you to see this. But _this_ –" Beatrice removed the disc from the player, holding it out for a second before dropping it behind her on the couch dismissively, "It should be the least of your concerns, Ezekiel. That disc means they know where you are. They know where Faye is. There's a camera on that ship that someone's been close enough to her to install. Someone's been in her _bedroom_. They're watching her while she sleeps. You can't leave her now. She needs you more than ever before. She has no idea she's in so much danger. Neither of them do," Beatrice looked him straight in the eyes, cutting into his soul with the intensity.

"If you let her die I'll never forgive you for it. I'll make sure your heart stops beating before it finally decides to on its own."

For a moment they simply stood staring into the other's eyes. Ezekiel finally looked away, the conviction of her words fuelling the subtle movement.

"I won't let her die," he said.

Beatrice let out the air she'd been holding in her lungs since he'd re-entered the room. Her face collapsed into a flood of tears. She reached out and held him. What little strength Ezekiel had left let her.

"Thank you," she cried, "Thank you."

* * *

**Lyrics from The Magnetic Fields' _I Wish I Had An Evil Twin_. Don't sue, please.**


	89. My Thorn of Crowns

So.

For the longest time this has been sitting on my desktop and I've been trying to write the "rest" of the chapter. I decided that maybe it was already finished. So here it is and hopefully I'll have the next chapter up sometime over Easter weekend.

As usual, thank you so, so much for your patience.

Happy Passover and/or Easter to you.

I love you.

ssg.x.

**

* * *

Under blue moon I saw you  
So soon you'll take me  
Up in your arms  
Too late to beg you or cancel it  
Though I know it must be the killing time  
Unwillingly mine**

* * *

_Sugar water, lemon, and peppermint._

As Beatrice wraps her arms around her, Faye feels as though she is rushing through time.

Three generations.

Faye has memories of her mother but only the vaguest sort. Not enough to fill the chasm a lifetime of not knowing her has left behind. Beatrice is her last living link. This didn't really hit Faye before now. Her fingers curled themselves into the soft, worn and web-like crochet of Bea's sweater. Faye's eyes close, she inhales intensely, shuddering as the breath leaves her lips. Bea's arms strain to still her sister's trembling.

"I'm so glad I got to say goodbye," Beatrice whispered against her ear.

_That's right…she's older. She's much older._

_This could be the last time I ever see her._

_She could…_

Faye is aware that Spike is watching her carefully over Bea's shoulder. She sees, even as her vision begins to blur with tears, the faint glimmer of worry on his face as though at any moment Faye will run into Bea's apartment and lock the door behind her.

He's afraid she will change her mind.

She ducks her head down, sweeps the moistness from her cheeks, sniffles, and sighs. She offers both Spike and Beatrice a smile.

"I'm glad, too."

They gaze fuzzily at eachother for another moment before Beatrice shakes her head, sobering herself.

"I'm sorry – come in and have something to drink," she offers.

Faye's chin wobbles, "We can't -- I can't…" she feels herself begin to break.

"Faye?"

Spike comes forward, supporting her with an arm around her waist. It gives Faye just enough strength to get the words out.

"I can't stay," she blurted. Bea looked confused for a moment. Hurt.

"I mean I can't see any more. I need to leave and I'm sorry for it. I'm sorry we won't know eachother –" falling, crashing, drowning. Her voice catches in her throat. It's like someone or something is squeezing it. It's hard to breathe.

"I'm sure both of us can agree that Faye's been through a lot, especially this last little while. Getting her memories back and all…" Spike's voice trails off. He swallows the lump in his throat. He can't hurt the old woman either. He coughs, "Faye wanted to come and see you before we left. I explained to her that I was coming to see you to get the package you put together for her."

"Yes," Bea said, smiling sadly. "I have everything ready for you in the den. Faye, if you would be so good as to get me a glass of water, please. If there's anything you need my home is your home."

Faye hesitantly leaves Spike and Beatrice alone in the foyer. She manages to find a glass and fills it with water from the tap. She looks around at the small kitchen with the faded, sunflower-yellow wallpaper. There are photographs held onto the fridge with magnets. Faye will never meet or even learn the names of the people in them. Beneath a small, ladybug magnet is a photograph of Ezekiel, Beatrice, and herself. Ezekiel and Faye are both seated on the ground, her swingset a silhouette in the background. Beatrice stands behind the pair, laughing, one arm around Faye's neck. Faye's hand rests over her sister's against her shoulder.

Ezekiel's eyes are on his own fingers intertwined with those of Faye's other hand in her lap. He looks very serene, a boy having a pleasant dream. Faye smiles with eyes half-closed, her face tilted up towards his, her lips brushing lightly against his cheek.

Faye gazes at the photo, absorbing every detail of it against her will.

When she's finally able to look away she feels her bottom lip begin to tremble. She tries to bite it into submission but it's too late. Her lip twists, her eyes squeeze shut, a throaty sobs escapes her. She hides her broken countenance in her hand, bolsters herself with another hand on the kitchen counter.

_I broke your heart…_

… _and your heart broke you._

She tries to stop. She doesn't want Spike to know she's crying.

* * *

Spike doesn't know she's crying. He's followed Beatrice into the den. She tries to lift the box from an old armchair but she's not strong enough. Spike catches the corner about to hit the floor, heaving the rest of the box's weight up into his arms.

"Spike –" Beatrice begins. Spike turns to face her.

"I haven't let on to Faye because I wanted to protect her. I didn't want to take the chance of her staying in Tharsis for my sake."

Spike leans back against the head of the armchair, the box heavy against his chest.

"You know what's going on. You're in danger, too," he says.

"Yes," she says simply. Silently they gaze at eachother. She knows what Spike is about to say because of his resemblance to Ezekiel. Emotions leave similar ripples behind on Spike's face. Beatrice says, "You have to go and I have to stay put. I've considered the other options but all of them could potentially put Faye in harm's way. And truth be told, I'm safer here. As long as I'm here I can pretend I don't know anything. As long as I'm here there's no reason for them to hunt me."

Spike shivers, overwhelmed by an unexpected surge of concern for Beatrice. He'd killed men, strangers with photos of children in their pockets. But to leave an elderly woman to sit alone in her apartment biding her time until the day death bursts through her door…

It would be a record low…_Wouldn't it?_

"You can't reconsider, Spike. I won't have it."

"Maybe –" he begins.

"You have to leave me behind," Beatrice interjects firmly, "for Faye's sake you have to leave me here. You can't look back."

_If I ever needed a cigarette…_ Spike thinks, sighing heavily.

"Faye and I will leave tonight."

Beatrice smiles, "You're making the right decision." She reaches a hand out and touches his arm, squeezing his elbow tenderly, "You're not abandoning an old woman. You're ensuring my sister gets the chance to grow into one."

Spike stands awkwardly shifting the weight of the box from one arm to the other. Beatrice turns slowly, heading towards the door of the den. She pauses in the doorway, looks back at Spike.

"Spike – do you pray?" she asks.

"No," he replies.

Beatrice chuckles. She shakes her head, "You're so much like him."

Spike bristles, "Ezekiel."

"Yes."

Spike replaces the box on the armchair, he shakes out the stiffness in his arms.

"Ms. Spector –"

"You can call me Beatrice, Spike," she says kindly.

"Beatrice, I have questions. About Ezekiel."

Beatrice's eyes widen. She shushes him and returns to his side, shutting the door to the den behind her.

"What kind of questions?"

Spike's eyes narrow, "I think you may have just answered them."

Beatrice bites her lip. She looks like the proverbial deer caught in the headlights.

"He's alive, isn't he?"

* * *

Faye hears their footsteps coming through the livingroom. She quickly wipes her eyes and nose on the sleeve of her jacket. She timbers the last small sobs leaving her body seconds before Spike and Beatrice enter the kitchen.

"We're going to step out for a bit, Faye," Beatrice says.

_We?_

"Where are we going?" she asks.

Spike and Beatrice exchange looks Faye is still too distraught to notice. Spike crosses the kitchen, holds her shoulders and smiles. "We're just going down the street. I need cigarettes and your sister has a lot to tell me about your family."

"Spike," Faye whispers, "what are you doing?"

Spike draws Faye close, whispering in kind, "You worry too much."

"I thought you were afraid to leave me by myself."

"I thought you were tired of me following you around like a hawk."

Faye's arms go around his neck. She leans in close, kisses his cheek and hisses into his ear, "Alright, asshole."

Spike laughs.

"Faye, make yourself some tea, have something to eat. We'll be back before you know it," Bea says. She explains, "There are so many discs , old family records and papers to go through. Someone needs to understand them. You yourself said you're not ready to see anymore. And if you're leaving tonight…"

_Some time alone right now might not be an entirely bad thing._

This is her last chance to mourn her loss. This is her chance to say goodbye to lost loves and finally leave everything behind her.

"Okay," Faye nods, "just don't be gone for too long."

* * *

**Lyrics from Echo & The Bunnymen's _The Killing Moon_ were used. Don't sue, please.**


	90. Inside We Find The Fear

Okay.

As per usual I think this chapter is a lot longer than it probably is. I just know I'm going to end up getting back to this chapter to revise because it's bugging me. But I hope you like it nonetheless. I'm always grateful for your comments and constructive criticism so if you feel like I fucked something up, please let me know.

Thanks for sticking with it, my friend.

I love you.

ssg.x.

**The boy in the belfry  
He's crazy  
He's throwing himself  
Down from the top of the tower  
Like a hunchback in heaven  
He's ringing the bells in the church  
For the last half an hour  
He sounds like he's missing something  
Or someone that he knows he can't have now  
And if he isn't  
I certainly am **

Spike didn't like churches.

The muddy oak of the pews was moody and oppressive. He felt dwarfed by the tall, iron-gilded, stained glass windows. Too realistic for Spike's taste was an image of Jesus' lifeless body being held by Mother Mary in aqua tones. Daylight passed through the yellow glass that shaped their halos. Spike would have appreciated the bit of warmth it allowed but Bea had selected a seat closer to the altar and off into the shadows of the cathedral. He felt himself slowly sinking further and further into his parka.

A woman praying several rows behind them coughed and the sound echoed through the room like a gun backfiring causing Spike's shoulders to draw up. A shiver moved down his spine. Why or how Beatrice could look so at home, so peaceful here, was something beyond Spike.

Spike knelt down beside Beatrice, intertwining his fingers in mock prayer only to keep his hands warm and their conversation private. The old woman's eyes stared straight ahead. Spike's followed suit.

"He faked his death. I didn't need you to tell me that. I only needed your confirmation."

"I didn't know if we could trust you."

"We. You're in touch with him, then."

"Yes."

Despite all the things that needed to be said, they remained silent for several moments. Spike jumped when Beatrice's warm hand cupped both of his.

"Thank you," she said, "for taking care of my sister. He couldn't do it all alone. His heart…"

Spike nodded. "It was him. He killed that woman. The red-haired woman."

Beatrice's hands returned to her, folding together. She sighed sadly, "I wouldn't know anything about that. But it wouldn't surprise me. He doesn't talk about the measures he has to take to protect her."

"Jesus –"

"Watch it."

"Sorry," Spike muttered. "Well, whatever's wrong with his heart it isn't affecting his eyesight."

**  
Breathing new life  
Into the sad witch  
And she promised me three wishes  
And all I wish is  
She should remain here **

"The church is only a five minute walk from here, Faye," Beatrice said, wrapping a wool scarf around her neck. She stepped out into the hall and made some adjustments to her coat. She patted down her pockets, looking for her gloves.

Spike zipped up his parka but not before reaching inside the beat-up old jacket and drawing out a gun. On closer inspection Faye realized it was her Glock.

"Stay safe and don't open the door. Put the deadbolt on after we leave. Don't take any chances," he whispered folding the gun into her hand. Worry flickered across her face. Spike grinned, "Don't worry -- I won't be here for you to shoot. If you have to take out a few vases or tea sets to protect yourself I'm sure your sister will forgive you."

"Are you ready to go?" Beatrice called into the apartment.

Spike and Faye sobered quickly. Faye concealed the gun behind her back. Spike touched her chin, "You'll be okay. I wouldn't leave you here alone if I thought you'd be in danger."

"You wouldn't leave me here alone _with a gun_ if you didn't," Faye said.

"You wanted me to trust you. I trust you," Spike replied. He turned to leave but hesitated in the doorway. He spun around, grabbing Faye's shoulders and pulling her into a quick, fierce kiss.

"I love you," he said.

Faye smiled, "I love you, too."

After the door clicked shut and Faye put on the deadbolt, she carried the gun with her into the kitchen.

She poked her head into the fridge finding it full and fresh with fruits and vegetables, what looked to be a leftover macaroni casserole. Under normal circumstances she would have devoured all she could and stuffed what she couldn't into any pocket of space she could find on herself. She plucked a few grapes out of a bowl and ate them slowly. She straightened and closed the fridge door. She had absolutely no appetite.

Part of Faye felt uncomfortable to be in her sister's home. She had known and loved Bea but had thus far only seen a glimpse of the woman she'd become. Faye moved through the apartment trying to piece her sister's life and the legacy of her lost family together through photos, memorabilia, clothing.

Faye opened the door to what turned out to be a linen closet. Almost every sheet in there was sprinkled with varying intensities of yellow flowers. Hanging from a green ribbon on the doorknob was a scented sachet. Faye crouched by it and inhaled deeply. Orange and lemon zest. She thought of the park. Faye thought of how her little sister would ask her to peel the orange from her lunchbox. She remembered the lemon jellies she and Beatrice would buy at the movies. Yellow flowers and summers out in their backyard.

Faye stood and moved back through the living room. Her fingers drifted lightly over photographs in leather frames along the walls. She recognized her parents and one of her brother, William, and his wife on their wedding day. Graduation pictures, baby photos, family portraits. Faye, of course, was absent from all of them. She spent some time trying to put all the photos in chronological order but eventually gave up, her heart too heavy to stay focused.

She soon found herself in Bea's bedroom. The room was dim and the air was laden with the overpowering scent of vanilla. Heavy, emerald curtains were drawn across a large picture window. There were more photographs in frames on the wall and one of Bea's husband on the nightstand beside a leather bound bible.

Across the room was an old vanity that was probably white once but had become a dull and dusty yellow over the years. There was a small porcelain lamp on end and a wooden jewellery box on the other. Spread across the rest of the dresser were different sized ceramic containers of powders, blushes, various shades of lipsticks. Faye picked up one container, held it close to her nose. The scent was strong and reminiscent of her mother.

It was the first real and tangible memory of her mother. Her eyes began to well. She sat down on the small wooden chair, placing the gun in front of her. She dragged her hand across her mouth, smearing off the lipstick she wore. She took a nearby make-up brush into her hand and dusted some of the powder over the bridge of her nose and her cheeks lightly, like the touch of her mother's fingers. She closed her eyes and smiled.

_Mom. _

Faye opened and closed the different lipstick containers, twisting each one to its full height, admiring all the different colours before replacing them back on the vanity.

_I'm sorry I never let you play with my dolls, Bea. I'm sorry I pulled your hair when I found you in my room looking through my letters. I'm sorry I never let you use those butterfly berets you always liked so much. _

_I'm sorry I wasn't there to put your lipstick on or do your hair before your first date. I'm sorry I missed your wedding. _

_I'm sorry for leaving you. _

Faye absently continued going through all the lipsticks. She wiped the tears from her eyes and took a deep breath. She tried on a soft pink shade, pressed her lips together and examined her expression in the mirror. She didn't want to look like she'd been crying when Spike and Bea returned.

She pressed the palms of her hands into her eye sockets.

"Keep it together. Keep it together. Keep it together."

She didn't hear the key in the front door.

Ezekiel jiggled the key in the front door. He cursed under his breath, pushing uselessly against the old wood, feeling it bend under the pressure.

The lock finally yielded to his frustration and on entering he removed his jacket, draping it over the arm of the sofa. To travel he would need winter clothes. The nights were gradually getting colder. Bea had given him free range over the boxes of old clothes belonging to her late husband stacked in the corner of her closet. As he rubbed his cold hands together and tempered the chattering of his teeth he made a mental note of the things he would need to bring with him.

_Gloves _

_Hat _

_Socks _

_Boxers… _

"Hello?" he called out, noticing Bea's bedroom door was closed. He was so used to finding Beatrice sitting in the livingroom reading or in the kitchen boiling water for her seemingly bottomless cup of tea that when she wasn't there a visible shiver moved through his long, thin body.

"Hello?"

"I'm in here."

Faye leaned in close to her reflection in the mirror. She could see her mother in there, in the upturned corners of her own lips. She saw her father in there, hiding in her green eyes, staring back with his own.

She thought of her William and the faraway look he always had on his face, the soft smile that would pass across his features when he thought no one was looking, as though some invisible thing had whispered some secret joke into his ear.

_And Ezekiel… _

Of course she thought of him. _Always_.

She'd been staring for so long she'd forgotten herself. She heard Spike in the foyer calling out to her. She called back,

"I'm in here."

The door opened and the impact of the moments that followed would change the girl in the mirror for all time.

**Swimming with the fishes  
While the serpent waves his tongue  
With a belly full of splinters  
Now you see that I'm the one  
Tell me that you've seen a ghost  
I'll tell you what to fear the most **

"Samuel Spiegelman."

Spike's eyes widened. Before he could ask how the hell Beatrice knew his real name she answered the question for him.

"Several years ago you changed your name. You faked your death and started over leaving Samuel Spiegelman behind you."

"How did you know that?" Spike demanded in a fierce whisper.

"The resemblance is amazing. You've seen pictures, I'm sure. You look so much like him. It's really uncanny," Bea reached out and touched his chin still in awe. Spike tossed his head out of her reach.

"We've been over this," he said, exasperated, "He looked like me. I get it."

"He _looks_ like you," Beatrice said with a teacher's patience. She watched him intently waiting for him to clue into what she was trying so hard to tell him without actually saying it. Spike was silent for a moment. His eyes met Beatrice's for the first time since they'd sat down.

"They're not after me. They're after him. Their only interest in me has been…" he struggled to piece the puzzle together but his emotions were racing long ahead of his thoughts.

Faye would follow Spike to the ends of the universe. There was nothing holding her back. They'd overcome their memories to get to the wonderful place they'd been up until now. A place they'd barely had a taste of. The only thing that could keep him from having her…

Beatrice looked away from Spike as though she couldn't bear to see the effects of the devastating blow she was about to deal him.

"Up until recently they couldn't find Ezekiel," she said. Spike willed himself to breathe.

"Up until only recently they were searching for an old man."

**Lyrics from Suzanne Vega's _In Liverpool_, Hefner's _The Sad Witch, _and Kasabian's _Empire _were quoted. Don't sue, please. **


	91. The Fear You Won't Fall

I was scared witless to post this chapter. It's been so long and I've been so afraid to disappoint you. I hope I did alright, and I hope that you'll be happy I'm back. Because I still love you.

ssg.x.

* * *

**Falling slowly  
Eyes that know me  
And I can't go back**

**Take this sinking boat  
and point it home  
We've still got time**

* * *

Ezekiel backs clumsily through the doorway. He moves along the wall, clutching his left arm until the feeling leaves his fingers and the arm falls heavily back to his side. Faye pushes violently away from the vanity and follows him.

"Ezekiel…?"

Their eyes had just met in Bea's mirror in exactly the same way they had decades ago during that school assembly. And the shock of it, of realizing he loved her before ever having spoken to her, had sent him bolting just as it did now.

She says his name and the sound of it burns the blood and boils the beating heart in his ears. He doesn't have the strength in him to grab hold of her and keep her from saying it again.

"Ezekiel," her voice, only a whisper, trembles delicately on her tongue. When there is no answer she cries desperately, "Say something! Tell me who you are!"

He backs further into the hallway for fear that she'll try to search futilely for Spike in his eyes as she once searched for Ezekiel in his.

"If you've been sent here to kill me," she begins quietly, still not wanting to trust her eyes. He knows neither of them can trust their eyes any longer. Not after all that's happened to them up until now.

The suggestion that he would ever harm her, though, still stings. Ezekiel touches his head to the wall, his jaw dropping. His heart slows mournfully to a near stop. _It feels as though _you've_ been sent here to kill _me_._

He takes a deep, static breath. Once he speaks she'll know the truth. He won't be able to slip back into the shadows where he's remained regretfully but comfortably for so long.

"Sometimes I could just kill your sister," he says hoarsely.

A beat...

"She never could stay out of our business," Faye replies, tears beginning to burn her eyes.

"Her heart's in the right place, I guess."

Faye moves cautiously towards him. When he feels the heat of her approaching touch he jerks just beyond her reach.

"I'm sorry. I can't. I…" he tries to explain, apologetically.

"How did this happen?"

"Please…"

"I need to know," she begs. The first tears swell, burst, and roll down her cheek. "You look..."

He shakes his head, his dark hair shielding his eyes from hers, "I can't – I'm not ready to see you. You're supposed to think I'm dead," he stammers.

Faye is willing Ezekiel to turn and face her. She reaches for him again, and again he moves away before her fingers can make their desired connection. She brushes more tears from her eyes with the hem of her sleeve. Her lips press together, bending and curling like a wire being twisted at both ends.

He slumps further towards the floor, his vision beginning to blur, the yellow walls of Bea's apartment spinning, closing in on him.

He hears her retreating and moans, "Don't leave…"

"I'm going to get you some water. You don't look well," she says.

"This is how I always look," he whispers miserably to himself.

When Faye returns she tries to use the opportunity to get a closer look at him. She carefully creeps around him, glass of water in hand. His head is down, eyelids falling closed, opening slowly, falling closed…

He reaches blindly for the glass she holds out to him, close to her chest, trying to force some sort of physical contact. He's just not ready. He holds his hand out, waiting patiently. She brings the glass closer, teasing him with it, letting its moisture kiss only the very tips of his fingers. His throat aches for it.

"Take it," Faye offers gently, finally giving in. His hand closes around the glass, unintentionally catching her fingers beneath his own. The touch is electric.

"Ezekiel," only her lips moving.

_You haven't kissed me. It's been almost two weeks and..._

"It'll kill me," he whispers.

The glass falls, striking the ground and shattering. His mouth is on hers before the shards of glass have time to scatter and retreat into the steadying darkness created by the joining of their shadows. Their bodies collide mercilessly and the shock of it sends his equilibrium into orbit. But suddenly he finds he can't be close enough to her. Her lips open against his like a flower.

Her arms find the back of his neck and within that he manages to tap into some of his old strength. He hasn't felt this thing she's still apparently able to draw out of him for so long. He pins her shoulders to the wall and she gasps. She hangs from his grip, bending and stretching her body to accommodate his hips against hers. She sighs his name..._his_ name...

He ignores the painful tightening along the left side of his body.

* * *

**You have suffered enough  
And warred with yourself  
It's time that you won**

* * *

_What..._

Faye doesn't strain herself to find the words needed to express how she feels just now. The search would only end in disappointment. There are no words. He looks almost exactly as he did that last night they were together, albeit a few years older -- five or ten maybe. A man now, but nowhere near eighty.

_How...?_

Ezekiel mercifully breaks away from their kiss seconds before it feels as though Faye's heart is going to crack in her chest like an egg. Faye holds onto his hand, bringing it against her wet cheek.

"You've been alive all this time." Her grip on his fingers tightens. She sobs, "I thought you were dead or older and married with kids and grandkids. You forgot me. I thought you'd never forget me…"

Letting go, both her hands flatten across his chest and she pushes him out at arm's length. Then, surprising Ezekiel and herself likewise, she hauls back and strikes him open-palmed across the face. Her eyes flash like silver coins catching the light on a spin in the air. She's angry. Irrepressibly angry.

"I woke up scared out of my mind and not knowing who I am and all this time you..." she strikes him again, words fumbling, "Because you have nothing to worry about. You don't owe me anything. You can crawl back into the shadows and watch the rest of my life happen. Things are settled. I'm leaving tonight." _We're leaving tonight_ has changed to _I'm leaving tonight_ -- only a mental hiccup she hopes. She quickly tries to backtrack, "Spike and I."

Her arm winds up; ready to hit him a third time, but Ezekiel comes to his senses and catches her wrist in his hand. She twists in his grip, breathing heavily. He remembers grabbing her wrist just this way so many years ago, cradling it against the palm of his hand clammy with adolescent angst. He remembers pinning her to the spot that way but thinking that she was the one who held him there.

"I never forgot you," he hisses. He releases her. She cradles her sore arm as Ezekiel doubles over. He shifts back onto his heels and the glass beneath his boots crunches noisily. If he had eaten anything in the past twenty-four hours it would have been all over the floor now.

He closes his eyes against images from the disc of Faye with Spike. He imagines her telling Spike she loves him.

_Ezekiel who_, he imagines her asking, and she means it.

Ezekiel looks away.

"Does it hurt you when I say his name?" she asks quietly. Her chin drops.

_Do you like Laura Mheng? __I see you with her sometimes..._

"Would it hurt you if it didn't?" Ezekiel replies.

Her teeth cut mercilessly into her bottom lip and she quivers inches away from his ragged breaths as though trying to stand on bones turning to sand and falling away beneath her.

_I could tell him I didn't know what I was doing. I could tell him I'd lost my mind again. It wasn't my fault._

Tell who?

_I don't know. _

You mean Spike. You'll tell Spike it was an accident.

_Yes._

Afterwards.

_I want to kiss him again. So badly._

She shivers.

_But I wouldn't be able to stop._

She stands on the tips of her shoes. Her breath becomes her aura, slipping between his parted lips. He closes his eyes, tasting her spirit on his tongue. _I want to kiss her again. So badly._

"Don't encourage me," he says. "You know what I'm feeling. You know what I want to do right now. You just want me to do it first, so you can tell him what happened next wasn't your fault."

"I wouldn't be able to stop," he whispers.

But the sound of the front door opening...

The sound of the entire right side of Faye's body striking the doorway and then hitting the floor of Bea's bedroom as Ezekiel pushes her out of the line of fire...

The sound of Ezekiel's gun, appearing from beneath his t-shirt, cocking and settling into his grip...

Well, they put a stop to things rather effectively.

* * *

**Lyrics quoted from Glen Hansard's _Falling Slowly_. Don't sue, please.**


	92. You Can Swallow Or You Can Spit

So.

I'm getting this chapter out quickly because it hardly seems fair of me to take so damn long posting a new chapter and have it be so short. So just make like I posted one longer chapter instead of two short ones.

I love you.

ssg.x.

**

* * *

You can be oh so mean  
I just can't see no in-between  
You know what the sun's all about  
When the lights go out**

* * *

_I could kill your sister._

But I guess on the hierarchy of terrible things to do, hitting elderly women is just above hitting...regular women? And then hitting your girlfriend's sister, and hitting your girlfriend's elderly sister...?

Spike got up off his knees, ready to run back to the apartment building, grab up Faye and leave town on the next train, otter, or bus. Whatever the hell would get them out of Tharsis the quickest. Bea didn't try to keep him from leaving her side but she did lower her head behind prayer hands and say, with an exasperating calmness, "I might not be safe here alone. You know there are people out there looking for me too. Faye would never forgive you if something happened to the only family she has left."

"Jesus Christ," Spike muttered, dropping heavily back into the seat beside her.

Bea opened one eye and peeked over at him, "Remember where you are. Watch your language."

"I was. I thought it was fitting."

Even with only one emerald eye open, combined with the smirk on her face Faye's spark was there. He was torn between wanting to protect her and all the Faye in her, and confirming his fear that Bea took him here to leave Faye alone for an unsuspecting Ezekiel's arrival.

Spike's taste in fear made a switch. If he had to pick, the fear that someone was going to break in on Faye was preferential to fearing that Ezekiel was going to break in on Faye. Because at the very least, Spike knew that she wouldn't hesitate to shoot a stranger.

"If you knew what he's been through –"

"You don't know anything about me," he ground out, "What higher power gave you say over which one of us deserves her more?"

"It was decided decades ago."

Spike was fed up. He stood and zipped up his parka.

"Destiny, Fate, blah, blah, bullshit," he muttered. "If we're going to talk about fate, then how 'bout all the shit that's happened to keep them apart? How 'bout how she came into my life? Or was that some freak accident that happened while God was in the can?"

"You can't go back to the apartment. I'm not ready to leave yet," Bea said.

"Yeah, here's the deal with that," Spike began, pulling on his gloves, "if you and God are as tight as you say, he'll get you home safely. Unless he's too busy firing off lightning bolts at me on my way to fight Fate."

Spike, suitably dressed for the cold, strode down the aisle of the church. Bea gathered her purse and her coat up in her arms and rushed after him. She managed to catch up to him and he was kind enough to hold the purse while she got her coat on but he refused to slow down.

* * *

**Don't believe what you hear  
Don't believe what you see  
If you just close your eyes  
You can feel the enemy**

* * *

When they got to the door Spike's arm pushed Bea aside, ordering that she stay against the wall.

"I thought busting in there like a caveman and throwing a net over her to drag her home was more your style," she said.

"Don't know me as well as you thought, huh?" he replies. Despite being angry with Bea he still grinned and gave her a wink. She couldn't help but smile back. She took her place behind him and against the wall as instructed.

Trans-generational Charm, Spike decided to call it.

Spike turned the doorknob to the right slowly, air hissing between his teeth and palms sweating. Suddenly he heard something drop on the other side of the door. A small metal screw rolls out from beneath it.

_The deadbolt's been broken off_.

Vivid images, one after the other, filed through his mind at an alarming rate. The hundreds of times he'd kicked down doors, blew locks apart, every one of them followed by a kill. Spike rarely killed for anything more than the money. But he grew to love the colour of blood. Didn't care much for the smell, but that particular red; the rich, velvety look of it as it moved across floors and down walls...Spike was ashamed to admit it but sometimes he wondered how it would feel running along the walls of his throat.

He would kill the person who lusted for Faye's blood that way.

Bea hadn't even a second to tell Spike that the deadbolt was constantly falling off and that the super was a very lazy man who never got around to fixing it. Spike, gun in hand, hauled back and kicked the door down and all Bea could manage was a gasp, hands up to protect her face and ears from the sounds and sights of what was to follow.

Spike fired a shot at the man hovering over Faye as she lay on Bea's bedroom floor. The man fired back, missing his mark when Faye grabbed the hem of his jeans and yanked him down beside her. He landed with a dull thud in front of her.

A bullet hole smoked inches away from Spike's head in the wooden door of the hall closet behind him. Spike's own bullet got lost somewhere in Bea's room. Faye crawled through the doorway, arms outstretched to shield the body in front of her in the midst of Spike's debating whether or not he'd be able to kill the son of a bitch without hurting her.

She lay across the man as he tried to curl himself around her and shouted, "Stop, Spike!" Then to the man who lay beside her, "Stop."

After a long enough silence, Bea stepped through the doorway. She steadied herself against the doorframe, eyes roving over the door that hung precariously from whatever was left of its hinges.

"Faye!" she cried.

"I'm okay," Faye got up on her knees.

"It's..." Bea began. She started walking towards them but Spike held her back with a hand on her shoulder. She directed her question to Faye, "Is he okay?"

Faye squeezed the man's arm, "Ezekiel?"

"Ezekiel?" Bea echoed.

Faye took hold of him with both hands, "Ezekiel?" she said helplessly.

Bea shrugged away from Spike and rushed to Ezekiel's side, carefully kneeling across from Faye. The two women both called out to him, hysteria pulled taut like a wire between them. Spike tucked his gun into the inside pocket of his parka and approached them.

He reached down, taking the man's elbow in his hand and rolling the limp, heavy body onto its back. He wasn't waking up. If he was breathing he wasn't doing much of it.

Faye looked up helplessly at Spike, waiting for him to take charge like he always did. He didn't. All he did was look on with mild curiousity. Like an animal.

Ezekiel's eyes were closed, but his nose, the mouth...even his dark, curly hair...

But there was no time to marvel at this miracle of science.

His mouth. Lipstick smeared across it. Lipstick smeared across hers. _She didn't waste any time._

Any taste for blood Spike had right then was solely for Ezekiel's.

_The chance of her hurting me never even crossed her mind._

That was one big fucking lightning bolt to swallow.

* * *

**Lyrics from ****The Black Keys' **_**When The Lights Go Out**_** and U2's _Acrobat_ were quoted. Please don't sue.**


	93. Black Air And Seven Seas

So. Author's notes.

I used lyrics from my favourite song of all time. I was an itty-bitty when I first watched the music video, directed by Julien Temple, waaaaay back in 1982. Dave Wakeling was my very first kiss-the-television-screen, record-sleeve-under-my-pillow boy crush (and the only blonde one). Check out the video on youtube. Despite its age I still think it's one of the greatest music videos of all time.

As always please let me know what you think because I love hearing it.

Because I love you.

ssg.x.

* * *

**Sooner or later  
****Your legs give way, you hit the ground  
****Save it for later  
****Don't run away and let me down  
****Sooner or later  
****You hit the deck, you get found out  
****Save it for later  
****Don't run away and let me down  
****You let me down**

* * *

Spike stood in the livingroom's entranceway watching Beatrice fluttering around Ezekiel who, now conscious, sat on the couch trying to wave off her offerings of tea and pillows in a wide array of sizes, shapes, and firmness. Spike had tried in vain to push the door he'd broken down back into the doorway but of course ended up just balancing it as best he could against one side of the door frame -- enough to offer Bea an illusion of privacy.

Bea had explained to them that Ezekiel passing out was now a fairly common occurrence. She'd panicked at first, believing that the bullet from Spike's gun had found Ezekiel as its mark, but they found the bullet wedged in the wood of Bea's night table and Ezekiel hadn't a scratch on him.

Faye sat in a floral-printed armchair, yellow like almost everything else in the apartment, staring off into space. Occasionally she'd look across the room at Spike but his eyes were dark, flat, and indifferent. She'd taken Bea up on her offer for some tea but barely had a sip of it. She contemplated pouring it over Spike's head to melt the rigidness of his posture; still tightly wound up in his jacket, arms crossed stiffly against his chest.

"Can you talk now? I have somewhere I need to be," he finally said, directing his question to Ezekiel while his eyes remained on Faye. She returned his look sharply but said nothing.

_Where the hell does he need to be?_

_We're sup__posed to be leaving together._

Ezekiel straightened up, "Yeah, fine. Shoot. Oh wait, you did that already," he snarked.

"Start with the obvious, then," Spike said coolly.

Ezekiel sighed, "It's pretty simple. I was put into cryogenic freeze a few days after I turned thirty."

"Yeah, that much I figured out myself," Spike replied, rolling his eyes. "_Why_ were you put into cryogenic freeze?"

"Because you're sick?" Faye asked. Ezekiel shook his head looking as though he wished he had a cup of tea now simply to keep his hands occupied.

"No," he replied. Beatrice finally joined the three of them, sitting beside Ezekiel on the couch.

"I asked him to," she said. She allowed a moment of silence for Faye to absorb everything so far, allotted another moment for Faye to ready herself for what was to come.

"We knew that whoever was after our family was after you, so I had to take measures to make sure you were protected. Our father used whatever money we had left to wipe out any document of your existence in the hopes that they wouldn't be able to track you. In the process your medical files were also destroyed. I didn't mean for you to wake up not knowing who you were. I'm so sorry for that. But it turned out to be an advantage whether you think so or not. It was a huge sacrifice we inadvertently forced you to make but if you didn't know who you were you wouldn't be able to start a trail for them to follow. It would buy us some time."

Bea's eyes brimmed and she was too ashamed to meet Faye's gaze straight on.

"Our father wanted you to be safe. But the medical records were gone so we had no idea when or where you were going to wake up and who was going to be there once you were brought out of the freeze. Ezekiel had the money to pay for such an expensive procedure and the resulting maintenance fees. Angela had just died – "

"Angela?" Faye repeated, puzzled.

"His wife," Spike said tersely.

Ezekiel's eyes narrowed at him.

"Sorry," Spike smirked, "_Second _wife," he amended.

Faye looked down at her hands, their shaking barely anchored by the cup of tea held between them.

"I didn't love her," Ezekiel felt inclined to explain. Watching Spike carefully he said, "She wasn't my type. Long, blonde hair. Blue eyes. Girls like that are a dime a dozen."

Spike's hands balled into angry fists at his sides.

"Ordinary," Ezekiel spat.

"Didn't Angela have red hair?" Bea said, not understanding the intense exchange happening beneath the men's seemingly innocent words.

"Why?" Faye asked after having been lost in her thoughts the past few minutes.

"I just told you why he did it, dear," Bea said, reaching over from her spot on the couch to rub Faye's arm. The teacup rattled noisily against the saucer Faye held beneath it.

"All that time you lost, Ezekiel. You threw your life away," she said quietly, chin dropping to her chest.

"There was this chance that I'd be able to see you again, protect you. And if I couldn't..." his voice, very soft, "I couldn't feel it. Life without you...I wouldn't feel it frozen..." his voice grew hoarse and eventually trailed off into silence.

Faye bit her lip, shuddering as the sob she held back burned her insides. She squeezed her eyes shut, "Ezekiel...I'm so sorry."

Spike was moved.

No, really.

"Well, you're both fully thawed now," Spike removed his gloves from his jacket pocket. He briskly began pulling them over his hands, "and you've got so much catching up to do."

"Spike," Faye set her cup and saucer on the coffee table. She took a couple of steps towards him. He turned to watch her, expressionless.

"What?" he asked.

"Where are you going? There are still so many questions," she said. She looked back at Ezekiel for a second, and Spike took another step backwards towards the door.

"You have the language down. You've got things covered."

"Spike –" Faye made a grab for his sleeve, "you can't go. We...you and I are..."

_...i__n this together._

_...i__n love._

_...l__eaving to start a new life._

_...j__ust you and I._

She couldn't keep herself from looking back at Ezekiel a second time. When her eyes met Spike's again he chuckled, disbelief and disgust running rampant across his face.

_Tell him you love him._

_Tell him that nothing's changed._

_Please, please say something._

"Spike..."

_Please._

"We're just not finished here yet. We're not done."

_I should be trying harder to keep you here._

_I should be protecting you from all th__is._

Against every fibre in her being, Faye looked back at Ezekiel a third time.

"No," Spike said, pushing the broken front door to the side after recoiling from her hands on him.

"We _are_ finished here, Faye," and then trailing down the hallway, "We _are_ done."

* * *

**Two dozen other stupid reasons  
****Why**** we should suffer for this  
****Don't bother trying to explain them  
****Just hold my hand while I come  
****To a decision on it**

* * *

Of course she wanted to go after him. But there was the small matter of the lover she thought was dead suddenly come back to life, people stalking them, and the fact that her sister no longer had a door to keep T.H.E.M. out.

And how dare he not understand all that? Just like always, he'd made this whole thing about him. She thought that all the way to the bathroom to splash some water on her face. But before pressing her face into her cool, wet palms she saw the lipstick smeared around her mouth. She sighed, leaning heavily on the bathroom counter.

_Oh God._

"Shit," she muttered, feeling miserable and ashamed of herself. She grabbed at some squares of toilet paper and tried to rub the remaining colour away even though it was far too late to make any difference to Spike. The pigment/guilt had already been absorbed into her skin.

"Stop," she cried, hands on either side of her head trying to quash the unwanted desire to kiss Ezekiel again, or even look at him again with the same eyes from fifty years ago.

"I'm sorry. I just came to see if you were alright."

It was Ezekiel.

"You shouldn't be walking around yet, should you?" Faye began. She thought about reaching out for his erratic heartbeat and sheltering it in her hands. Ezekiel's own hand hovered over his heart like he had read her mind.

The bathroom was too small for the two of them to stand in face to face. Or rather, they could stand face to face but it was too close for comfort at the moment as far as Faye was concerned. She wondered if he could hear her thoughts. She wondered if he knew how hard she was trying not to fall in love with him again. The voices in her head screamed for her to gain some sense, to keep her promise to Spike, to not forget who she was now. Could Ezekiel hear them?

"It happens once in a while. I don't worry about it much anymore," he explained with a light shrugging of his shoulders.

He reached back and gently closed the bathroom door behind him.

"I've been watching you from far away for a long time now. Last night I promised Bea I'd follow you out of town but you were never supposed to find out know I was alive. I'd been taking measures all this time to make sure you never saw me, even by accident. I didn't think it would be fair to interfere with your new life," he said. "And it wasn't safe."

_He sounds like such a grownup. _Faye felt silly for thinking it. _A __stubborn and __severely__ misguided grownup_. She fought to keep from smiling.

"And nothing's changed, Faye. It's still not safe. Bea can't sleep in an apartment without a working door."

Faye nibbled at the corner of her mouth, "I don't know if I can bring you and Bea back to the ship," she said slowly, jiggling her left leg, shifting her weight to and fro. Her eyes rose to meet Ezekiel's. "You really made it your business to rub Spike the wrong way and I don't know how much you've learned from all that watching but the guy can really hold a grudge."

"Yeah alright, that wasn't exactly the best first impression. But I know he's been taking good care of you and I think he's right. You need to let him get you out of here. It kills me to say it but he's strong and ...strong. I've been taking care of your sister for a long time. For that matter she's been taking care of me for a long time. I know a couple of places where we'll be safe long enough for me to figure out our next move."

Faye was mildly irritated that Ezekiel and Spike not only shared looks but also the belief that Faye couldn't be trusted to take care of herself. She was about to express the thought out loud when Ezekiel said, "I was there when you accidentally shot him. You were scared. You didn't know what you were doing."

"I was going through some stuff. I'd just remembered who I was and you...I'd just remembered _you_," she said, tightening her jaw. "You saw everything? The woman who was sent to kill Spike, Roscoe getting shot...You saw all of it?"

"I follow you everywhere," he whispered.

"Please tell me you didn't kill him," she said, eyes meeting his desperately. She pushed a hand against his stomach, putting some more distance between them. Ezekiel swallowed audibly, muscles skipping against Faye's touch. She wished she could reach inside him and pull out the answers to all her questions. Then there'd be nothing left between them and she could fill the empty space, fold into him, cry and be relieved. Because from the second the memory of him resurfaced she wanted to wrap herself up in it.

"I wanted to," he said.

"But you didn't. It wasn't you."

_Please, please, please, please._

"It wasn't me," he said quietly, "but I'd be lying if I told you I haven't killed anyone."

"The redhead."

"Among others. It probably doesn't mean all that much to you now but the guy who did it...I mean the one who killed..."

_Oh God..._

"...I took care of him."

_OH GOD..._

"I'm not the same person I was, Faye."

But his open palm rubbed nervously against his hip and she recognized the habit from decades ago like a match had suddenly been lit to it. Her hand reached around him, her thumb hooking into the waist of his jeans just like it used to, to keep him from slipping away. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fists, whispering something under his breath. It sounded like "Forgive me."

Out of her mind, or finally in it for good – at that moment she wasn't sure what her preference was – she pulled him to her, letting herself sink into his darkness. He seized her lips, devouring them, enveloping her face with his hands. She kissed him back between his sobs and their panted breaths. He ran his fingers down the length of her throat, over her collarbone, the slope of her breast, her skin becoming slick with his tears.

_Forgive me._

* * *

**Lyrics quoted from The English Beat's**___**Save**__** i**__**t**__** for Later. **_**Please don't sue.**


	94. Planting Dead Flowers In A Cold October

**

* * *

**

**The more I see t****he less I know  
****About all the things**** I thought were wrong or right  
****And**** carved in stone**

**So, don't ask me about w****ar,  
religion, or God  
****Love, sex, or death**

**Because e****verybody knows what's going wrong with the world  
****But**** I don't even know what's going on in myself.**

* * *

It turns out love is not all you need. You need food, too.

Ana and Jet had spent the afternoon shopping for groceries. Jet had initially refused to take money from Ana but then she told him that if she was going to stay on the ship for the next couple of days she wouldn't be able to function on the Bebop's coffee and cigarettes diet. She drove him to her favourite market in the Portuguese district for what she called 'The God Sandwich' – pulled rotisserie chicken almost soaked completely through with the vendor's 'secret' hotsauce. Jet ended up eating two on the spot in the short time it took Ana to pay for them along with five more, tightly wrapped in brown paper to bring back to the ship.

After picking up some other staples (Ana's ideas of 'staples' were much different from Jet's), the last thing on her list was a large carton of milk. Jet was amused by that. He couldn't remember the last time he'd actually drank a glass of milk. Or a drop of it, even. Carrying the bags of groceries from Ana's car to the ship was nothing less than a purely surreal experience. He watched Ana categorize the different items then designate spots for them in the largely unused fridge and cupboards.

With eighty percent of his brain no longer occupied by hunger, Jet was able to sit down with Ana and wholly get back to work. From the messenger bag she'd plopped down beside her she took out a scratch pad and pen. Jet was fascinated to see someone actually _writing_.

"Where do we start?" she asked.

"We've already started. The problem is filling in the blanks. The movie was being funded by the Gate Corporation. Faye's father was on the board of directors. He was accused of embezzlement and a bounty was placed on him when he disappeared with Faye's family. Then he killed himself."

Ana's pen paused mid-sentence. She shook her head, "She hasn't had much luck, has she?"

"No. I guess not," Jet said. The more he found out about Faye's past the more he was coming to understand her. What he'd misconstrued as greed all this time, her penchant for running when things started to get a little hairy, and the fact that she'd lied about who she was over and over and over again. He believed he'd made up for his sometimes less-than-sensitive exchanges with her since all this began but he still felt a little guilty itch he couldn't reach to scratch.

"What I don't get is if the Gate Corporation is involved in this, and Faye's father is dead, then what would they need Faye for? We were discussing that maybe it's Ezekiel they're after. We had started trying to figure out if Faye is the corporation's missing link to Ezekiel or vice versa," he said.

"Maybe it's not the Gate Corporation going after her. Maybe it's someone using the Gate Corporation's resources to find Faye."

"They have hundreds of employees. That's gonna be one ginormous blank to fill."

Ana scribbled furiously, "Yeah, but it would have to be someone pretty high up there, someone with enough sway to get the Gate Corporation to finance such a huge project."

"Someone like Akaido. But we've tried 'bumping into him' a couple of times and nothing's come out of that. Isn't there a way for you to get your hands on some contact information?"

"No. No one knows where the hell he is. For that matter he's reclusive enough that no one even really knows _who _he is. I've worked on the production team for three Akaido pictures and I've never seen him. He could have been standing right next to us at the cast party and I wouldn't have known him from anyone else there."

"What about Roscoe? Would he have ever seen him in person?"

"I can't speak for Roscoe but as far as I know, Akaido didn't have contact with the actors except from wherever he was watching the action. And to be honest that could have been from anywhere. Now if Roscoe was working for T.H.E.M. it could be an entirely different story."

"What would have happened to his stuff?"

"I don't know. You know more about dead people than I do," she replied. "I'd wager a guess, though, that they'd try to locate family members to start dishing out his belongings.

"Unless there's a will. Has there been a reading?"

"I have no idea. There was never any time to talk about our personal lives so if he has family I wouldn't have a clue. I don't even think there's been a funeral yet, I guess it's been delayed because of the ongoing investigation. If there was a funeral I would have heard about it by now. Roscoe getting his hair cut was news-worthy."

"If there's a funeral we need to go." Jet reached for his computer. "Excuse me for a just a minute. I need to check in on the kiddies. I can only hope Spike has his communicator on him at least. There's a bounty on Faye's head and apparently he doesn't have the sense to keep her here where she's safe."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth he heard a dull thumping sound coming from the direction of the hangar. He'd hoped it was the sound of Spike and Faye returning but the thumping continued without changing in tempo or volume.

"Spike?"

No answer.

"Faye?"

The thumping kept on, prompting Jet to his feet.

"I'll stay here," Ana offered.

Jet straightened and began the slow, steady walk down the corridor that would take him to the source of the sound.

As he drew closer he realized the sound was coming from Faye's room. He lamented that he'd left his gun in the kitchen area. He'd put it down on the counter and for all he knew Ana, in her mission to get things organized, had accidentally sorted it into the vegetable crisper.

He was relieved when he recognized the sound as that of Faye's mattress springs.

Then he was disturbed.

_Oh geez. They could have at least closed the door_he thought, shuddering.

_"_Jet-Jet-jump-jump-jump-with-Ed! Jet-Jet-jump-jump-on-the-bed!"

Ed.

Phew.

"When did you get back?" he asked, happy to see the little fruit-loop.

Ed continued to jump on the bed, arms and legs flailing like rubber hose. She seemed unconcerned that her head was very close to hitting the ceiling.

Jet winced, "How 'bout you get down from there? There's food in the fridge for a change."

Ed continued to jump, "Is there cheese?"

"I don't remember. But there's milk if you're interested," Jet replied. _Kids__ like milk, right? Good for the bones, _he thought. As predicted, her head finally struck the ceiling but all she did was giggle.

_If the kid even has bones._

"Okay. But it's your turn now," she said.

Jet chuckled, amused at the image of jumping on the bed and ending up halfway through the ceiling with his legs dangling heavily over the floor of Faye's room.

"Maybe later," he said.

"Okay. But don't forget to smile for the camera," she said, running past him. A pile of old bedsheets on the floor in the corner came to life. One fitted sheet followed Ed but not before bumping into Jet's legs a couple of times on its way out.

"Hey there, old boy."

The sheet barked.

_If I'd known I would have picked up some dog food._

Wait a second.

_Camera?_

* * *

**Planting dead flowers  
****In a cold October  
****Cemetary**** blackbird  
****Flying all over  
****Where's this going to take me  
****A mountain full of misery  
****Careless abandon  
****All alone and empty**

**Oh my girl please don't give in  
****Don't**** listen to your stupid friends  
****I hear them going off again  
****So she's leaving**

* * *

Spike mashed his hand against the keypad several times, frustrated and angry, before stopping to take a long, deep breath. He took off his gloves and punched in the code more carefully. Once the doors whirred open he stomped through the corridor and kicked the second set of doors, angry that they'd decided to be there when nothing else was going his way. He punched in the second code. He started undressing, ripping the parka from his body and throwing it through the opening doors so that he could shuffle it the rest of the way to his room with his boots.

"Dumb-fucking-psychotic-selfish-naive—"

You have to cut her a bit of slack.

_I've cut her enough slack. No more slack. She'__s taking advantage__ of the slack. As far as I can__ tell she had my slack and her tongue in his mouth._

She wanted to leave with you. You're the one who read into those looks she was giving him. Of course she'd be looking at him. The guy is supposed to be in his eighties and he doesn't look a day past thirty. She hasn't seen him since her accident.

_Blah, blah, blah._

See, this is part of the problem? You never listen to me.

Spotting Jet's silhouette as he stomped past Faye's room, Spike backed up, laughing incredulously and throwing his hands up in the air, "Boy, oh boy! Let me tell you about the day I've had!"

Spike blinked. Jet was standing on Faye's bed, bouncing back and forth from one foot to the other.

"Is this a Crazy Man in Love thing?" Spike asked, puzzled.

Jet was squinting at the wall straight ahead. "I think there's a camera in here," he replied, distracted.

Spike took off his gloves, bunched them up, and tossed them somewhere behind him.

"Camera?"

"Ed was in here and she found a camera."

"Where?"

"C'mon in here. See the dresser? The missing knob?"

"That dresser looks to be about a hundred years old. It's missing knobs all over the place," Spike said. He stepped up to the beat-up, birch dresser – outside of Jet's trees it was one of the only things on the entire ship made out of wood. Finally quiet for a moment, all he could smell all around him was Faye. The bloody dress was hanging back in its spot by the door. It had started to become part of the decor, like a ceramic mosaic or a Moroccan rug on the wall. If Faye never came back for anything but her things, would the dress go with her?

"The second drawer on the right." Jet held out his hand. Inside was a tiny camera, about the size of his fingernail. There was some torn fabric around it, sticky like spiders' web. Spike guessed it was to keep it in place.

He took the camera from Jet and slipped his hand into the drawer, trying to see how it fit and how much it would actually be able to see. He had to practically stick his entire head in it to have a look at how much the camera would be able to see.

"That's what I was trying to do up here. I don't know if the camera would need to see up this high, though. I mean anything interesting would be happening down there," Jet said.

Spike arched an eyebrow at him.

"You know what I mean. I mean at eye-level. I didn't mean in the bed. I meant _on_ the bed. I mean _around_ the bed," Jet sputtered.

When Ana began to wonder what was taking so long she went looking for Jet. Passing by one of the many rooms she finally found him balancing on Faye's bed. Spike's head was buried in one of Faye's dresser drawers.

"The camera definitely gets the bed," Spike was saying.

When Jet and Spike spotted Ana in the doorway she grinned and waved her pen at them.

"I don't think I have nearly enough paper to figure this out."

* * *

**Lyrics quoted from ****the THE's **_**Slow Emotion Replay**_** and ****T****he****Trews'**_**So She's Leaving.**_


	95. The Abandoned Castle Of My Soul

**

* * *

****I was young and impressionable  
my morality questionable  
when I happened to fall into a howling abyss  
and I haven't hit the bottom yet**

Beatrice had fallen asleep in the only chair in Ezekiel's apartment – a corner in the basement of an abandoned storefront that once resold small home appliances.

"If it wasn't for your sister I'd be living on toast," he said. Faye smiled at him, tucking her sister into the chair with one of the quilts they'd packed, resting the side of her head against a pillow. Pictures of a young, precocious, and funny little sister moved in and out of the bright light of her memory, warming her heart. Faye's hands lingered on the quilt and she kissed Bea's soft white hair.

The room was small and musty with a small window that allowed a limited amount of light and air. There was a sink, a desk, and a bare cot that Faye dressed with one of Bea's flowered sheets. Boxes, a workbench, and shelves of old tools took up the rest of the space. Leaning against the back of the chair was a faded, leather-reinforced box guitar case. Faye knelt down by it to get a closer look.

"Believe it or not it's a dozen times better than the pawn shop I was staying in six months ago. That's where I found the guitar..." he explained. Faye lifted the case's last clasp. A sawn-off wristbreaker and several cartridges clattered out onto the floor. She glanced up at Ezekiel, looking surprised as he continued, "...which I've been keeping at Bea's place."

"Lemme put those away." Ezekiel knelt down beside her, turning the guitar case onto its back. As he put the gun and its accessories back, Faye thought wryly of a time when Ezekiel Chadwick becoming a killer would be almost as unlikely as Faye Spector falling in love with one.

Faye had to admit that she was sort of relieved to find out that Ezekiel was the one who had killed Redhead and not her. She'd set off fireworks in her day but before that night she had never tried to purposefully kill someone. She knew Spike had killed dozens of people and wondered what number you'd have to hit to be able to do it for money or not throw up afterwards.

"Maybe we should wake Bea up. I still think she'd be more comfortable on the cot," she suggested.

Ezekiel's arms crossed around his waist as he pulled his t-shirt up and over his head, "You think so?" He bunched the shirt up and shoved it into one of the pillow cases on the cot.

He crouched by his duffle bag and pulled out a fresh shirt. He offered Faye a hooded sweatshirt and another pair of socks to wear over her own.

She sat down on the end of the mattress and wrapped herself up in the sweatshirt, zipping it up to her throat. She shimmied until she was against the wall with her legs out in front of her. She leaned forward and put the socks on. In recent weeks she'd become accustomed to wearing men's clothing and wondered how she was ever able to function in the constricting hotpants, halter top and high-heeled boots of days gone by.

"The temperature dips pretty low at night," he said. He awkwardly sat down in front of her with his hands in his lap.

"Faye," he started. She searched his eyes, finding them shimmering behind black curls and thick eyelashes. Every detail of his face was striking against his unmarked skin.

"I don't want to talk about what happened at the apartment," she interrupted, surprising herself by covering her ears childishly. Her eyes flashed and burned across his face like a slap and Ezekiel reacted as such. He stood, bending to sweep his jacket up from the floor, circling a scarf tucked in one of the sleeves around his neck.

"What are you doing?" she asked helplessly. He pulled the jacket on, not looking at her.

"I'm gonna see if I can't talk Spike into getting your stuff together and getting you out of here," he said brusquely.

With his back against the wall by the door to get his boots on she observed how the minor struggle to complete the task left him pale and sweating. Faye swiftly climbed down from the cot and crouched down in front of him. She tried to help him tie the laces but her breath caught in her throat when he suddenly dropped to his knees, leaning forward onto his hands.

Instead of the fuzzy gaze of a teenage boy in love trying to coax the courage out of him to kiss the girl, Ezekiel's eyes seemed to simmer with an exquisite hurt.

"This reunion of ours wasn't my doing, okay? And whatever drama's happening between you and Spike is between _you and Spike_. I didn't follow you all the way here just to play the part of the wrench in your plans. I love you too much to let that happen."

_Say it..._

"...again," she whispered. Ezekiel's head cocked to one side, "What?"

Faye's body began to wilt between his knees, betraying her before her voice could, "...that you love me," she said weakly.

Ezekiel shook his head firmly, his jaw tightening.

"No."

Faye tried to get closer but his hands closed around hers to maintain the distance between them. Their hands locked and struggled against one another. Faye, confused by his sudden intense desire to hurt her, started to cry. She finally gave up, her arms went limp and she crumpled to the ground, her head hanging so low it practically touched the cold floor.

She felt the heat of Ezekiel's breath against her ear, heard the sound of his tongue licking dry lips.

"What happened in the washroom," he began. Faye stifled her sobs against the back of her wrist, bracing herself for the humiliation that would no doubt follow his next few words.

"It's not because I don't love you. I didn't stop because of anything you did. I just...I had to stop. For so many reasons. Faye..." He reached out and stroked her hair, "Faye?"

A sickly sigh rattled in her throat. It was enough of a signal that she was listening to encourage him to continue.

"If it wasn't for your sister forcing our meeting you would have left last night with Spike and that would have been that. This whole thing has turned me into a killer. And you...look what it's done to you," he said. He sat back on his heels and busied himself with buttoning up his jacket.

"What do you mean? What's wrong with me?" she asked weakly.

"You smoke."

Faye blinked. She raised herself up on rubber arms to look at him but his face was unreadable.

"You smoke. You drink. I've seen you drink so much you'd just about pass out. And there was always a different guy to hold your hair back," he didn't look at her as he spoke. "I watched you follow so many strange men up and down dimly lit staircases all over Mars."

Faye was reeling. "Ezekiel, I didn't know who I was. I was trying –"

"Trying on a few different hats to see which fit best? If I wanted a tally I don't think I'd even be able to count that high. I really had my work cut out for me for a while there."

"Ezekiel..."

_Oh God, I make him sick._

How he must feel...to follow the person he loves through time and tragedy...

To find out he's had the wool pulled over his eyes...

"I'm sorry," she whispered desperately.

Ezekiel touched her shoulder, "I'm the one who's sorry." His voice was soft and caressing, the real bite being in his words. "I felt so disconnected, like the woman I was kissing couldn't be the same one I fell in love with. I'd fooled myself into thinking that there was more to my protecting you than just the promise I made to your sister."

She felt his lips against her temple, his breath was ragged and moist. He was crying.

"I'm sorry,"

...the words stumbling.

"I love you," she cried.

"I'm sorry for that too,"

Faye tried one last time to reach for him and for a few fleeting seconds she had the cuff of his jacket in her fingers and he froze, pinned to the spot as effectively as if she had her hand around his throat.

"Maybe..." he pulled away, "you and Spike are used to the violence, collecting the blood money, and the dark alley sex...the lifestyle suits this person you've become. But the transformation into gun-toting maniac hasn't been a smooth one for me and I think I need to quit while I've still got a soul."

The air was yanked from her lungs. Faye's chest tightened.

"You think I'm a monster?" She croaked. She finally found it in herself to sit up. "So your wanting me to be with Spike – it's never been because he's strong and he loves me and he can take care of me and all that other election campaign manager shit you were trying to feed me earlier. It's because you think we _deserve_ eachother, that monsters belong with monsters."

Ezekiel said nothing. He stood to his full height and started for the door. Faye moved fast, putting herself between him and the exit.

"All that time I wasn't looking for a fucking _hat_. I was looking for _you," _she hissed, keeping her tears in check. She swept to one side of him, clearing his path.

"I'll be ready to go when Spike gets here."

Once Ezekiel was gone Faye threw herself onto the cot, bringing her knees up to her chin. Long, coarse howls like an animal shook her to the core. She wasn't sure if she felt more betrayed by Ezekiel or by herself for not making more of an effort to defend the awful person she'd become who only hours ago didn't seem that awful.

_The soulless whore of a murdering gangster._

* * *

**The abandoned castle of my soul  
I was only seventeen when I lost control  
in the abandoned castle of my soul**

**I reached out for anything  
white with unspeakable appetites  
found myself in the lair of a killing despair  
now it's ten years on, and I'm still there**

* * *

Ezekiel climbed the stairs, fighting the pull of her cries, muffled through the heavy door but still sharp enough to cut through the muscled wall of his heart. Breaking into a run, he managed to reach the top of the stairs just in time to vomit, pouring into the dark and wet shadows of the shop's back alley.

He wished he was clever. He had to fall back on the only thing he knew would work from the sheer luck of it working the first time. He couldn't help the feeling of disappointment that Faye hadn't been able to see through the act even though none of this would have worked otherwise.

Ezekiel's ribs quivered in their disease-weakened flesh as he was thrust solidly through a second wave of nausea. His shoulders jerked and he heaved again. His arm reached out blindly behind him, flattening against the wall, keeping him upright.

She's leaving.

She hates you like she has to but she's leaving.

Like you wanted.

He blinked the fuzziness from his eyes. Leaning his entire body against the wall, he reached up to wipe his mouth across his hand, noticing the dotting of blood left behind but paying little attention to it.

You were stronger this time around.

_There's more at stake this time._

You were very convincing. Deep down you meant some of those things you said to her.

_No. Not one word of it._

Then you were very convincing.

_Not one word._

* * *

**Lyrics quoted from The Gothic Archies' _The Abandoned Castle of My Soul_. Don't sue, please.**


	96. Hopes Go Astray

**

* * *

****You'll sing 'til tomorrow  
And the days that will follow  
But it's never the same  
When you feel you're insane  
On the bed where you lay  
There's a plan that was made  
But it's never the same  
When your hopes go astray**

* * *

Spike rests against the wall at the head of his bed. A cigarette balances between his teeth. Every thirty seconds or so he sips at it, barely inhaling, mostly to keep it from falling out of his mouth. He has no appetite for it right now. His hair is wet, still fresh from the shower, and his hand sweeps back as needed to keep it out of his eyes.

He's taped up his shoulder, despite it being completely unnecessary, just to kill some time.

_Over—under—around_

_Over—under—around_

_Over—under—around_

Faye's cookie tin lies cracked open at the foot of the bed. He reads the same letters he'd read months ago after tearing her room apart but this time it isn't merely for curiosity's sake. And this time the author of the letters isn't just a kid who happens to look like Spike.

At the time Spike couldn't have been happier to discover the truth behind Faye's attraction to him. And now he hopes beyond hope that wasn't all there'd been to it.

_Ezekiel,_

_I don't know what I did wrong but whatever it is I can fix it. _

_In case you care, I'm alright. It wasn't a bad fall. Were you worried? Do you care?_

_Miss Mitigaku is the only teacher in the entire school who asks us to submit our poetry assignments in our own handwriting. She says the connection between author and reader is stronger that way. Is there enough of a connection left between us to strengthen?_

_I saw you on my way to pick Bea up from school today. Jimmy was smoking. You weren't. You looked okay. I should be glad but I'm not. _

_You shouldn't be okay. I'm not okay._

There are pictures, some of friends but the majority of Ezekiel, peppered with holes left from pushpins. Spike imagines the pictures littering the walls of an adolescent Faye's bedroom. Reaching deeper into the tin, Spike swears under his breath when a sudden stabbing pain strikes the heart of his hand. He pulls back, using his other hand to send the tin flying across the room, the remaining contents litter the floor.

After doing a damage check of his hand he lowers himself to the floor, eyes scanning for the object that left a nasty sliver in its wake.

_Aha._

A very sharp bit of splintered wood about two inches long.

He tosses it next to his spare lighter and an empty carton of cigarettes by his pillow. He pulls on his trousers and pushes himself into his boots. As he saunters to the main room he slowly buttons, unbuttons, re-buttons his shirt.

"He's coming."

Spike faintly registers the sound of Jet's voice. He was sort of hoping he'd have the space to himself. Whenever Jet suffers from a bout of productivity he's in bed not long after sundown so he can make the most out of the imagined increase of light on the ship first thing in the morning.

Entering the main room he finds himself looking down from the platform at Jet seated on the couch at his computer with Ein asleep at his feet. Ed is running in small circles behind them all with a bed sheet over her head. She's wearing the goggles over it, pinning it to her face.

"I'm a ghost too!" she says, followed by a long and low, "WoooOOOOooooOO..."

Ezekiel sits in the arm chair. Ana appears to be watching him from the couch. She's nibbling at her lip, positively starry-eyed.

Ezekiel is long and lean, like himself. All sinew and bone. As Spike gets closer he notices how much harder and darker he is around the eyes than in the photos he was looking at only moments earlier. They're on Spike for an intensely uncomfortable few second before he's staring at his hands again.

"Well, hello..." Spike drawls with feigned carelessness. His arms cross, his hands grip his elbows and he doesn't realize that his nails are biting through the fabric. Casually he says, "Swung by for Faye's toothbrush?"

He waits for an answer – like, actually _waits_ for an answer. Is he actually here to pick up her things? Could Faye be that much of a coward that she couldn't tell him she was leaving herself? It's late. Maybe she's asleep. How can she sleep? He's barely been able to function these past few hours. Several times in the past couple of minutes alone he caught himself making sure the fly on his trousers was up and he hadn't missed any buttons on his shirt.

Ezekiel lets out a long, deep breath as though he's been holding onto it for days.

"If you're still planning on leaving town, take her with you."

Spike grins, trying not to look as though he cares. "Why?"

"Because she loves you," he says steadily. "And because she's not safe."

"You're leaving town? When the hell did you decide this?" Jet pipes in. He looks hurt. Crushed even.

Spike and Ezekiel have a good reason to break eye contact. Spike welcomes it.

"She's not safe," Ezekiel says before he can. "I was going to suggest they head for Elysium-M."

The stricken look on Jet's face melts into concern, "Has something changed? How much more do you know?"

Ezekiel turns away from the three of them. Spike's eyes follow Ed, still wrapped up in her blanket and running blind. He hears the solid thud of her body hitting a wall somewhere in the background, one of her howls cut short. His breath catches in his throat.

He cares for her. He can't outrun it.

A giggle from out of the darkness. Then the howling.

Spike smiles to himself, relieved.

"I know it's my fault," Ezekiel says sullenly. Spike's eyes return to the back of Ezekiel's head and the rigid lines of his shoulders. Against the shadows of the farthest corners of the room it looks as though he's standing at the mouth of hell. He looks lost.

He looks, for the first time Spike has noticed, out of time.

When he turns to face everyone once again Spike is instantly reminded of Faye so many months ago, charging into him from the bathroom, sopping wet and wrapped hastily in her bathrobe. She looked at him that day as though she'd stepped out of a time machine and recognized nothing. And she had, in a way. Her memory had returned to her that day.

**

* * *

****Just write a letter and mail it to yourself  
Read it out loud but to no one else  
Pick your pocket a measure of time  
And never leave these memories behind**

* * *

It was the water. She'd told Spike about the fountain one night when he was trying his hardest to stay awake. She described it in such detail, all along her voice at its softest.

She spoke of how she and her sister used to hold their hands beneath its cool and endless stream, drawing shrieks of laughter from the both of them. Her brother, William, telling the young girls that he'd send the lion after them in the dead of night if he caught the two of them snooping in his room again.

Spike's eyes had become heavy. Her fingers raked gently through his hair and he fell asleep with his head in her lap.

He woke up the next morning just that same way. Faye had slept the entire night sitting up against the wall so as not to wake him.

It had been a nice night. Better than that. Spike would even call it wonderful.

_Wonderful_.

When was the last time he had used that word unaccompanied by a hefty dose of sarcasm?

_Wonderful._

The water. Faye getting her memory back.

_Ezekiel._

_Right._

Ezekiel looks more like Faye this minute than he does Spike. And against every fibre in his being, Spike finds himself almost feeling sorry for him. For the Faye in him.

"It's my fault," he whispers again.

"So are they after Faye, or what? All this time..." Jet shakes his head. "I don't understand. How is this all your fault?"

"You said you needed the link between me and the Gate Corporation."

"And...?" Jet's voice leaves no room for patience.

"His name is Shihan Xie."

"Who the hell is that?" Jet demands, reaching his boiling point. The process had probably been made faster by Jet's discovery that once again Spike was planning on bailing with no consideration for the people or the mess he would be leaving behind.

Ana, who had been seated on the couch, silently star-struck for at least as long as Spike had entered the room, finally found her voice.

"The guy..._The guy_..._Guitar_..." she sputters uselessly, her hands jerking in front of her in what Spike can only perceive to be the worst air guitar in the history of the universe.

Ezekiel shrugs his shoulders. His left hand begins to bounce nervously against his hip.

"Once upon a time I broke his head open with a guitar."

* * *

**+Lyrics quoted from The Northern Pikes' **_**Hopes Go Astray**_**. Don't sue, please.**


	97. The Tale Of A Heart Attack

**

* * *

**

It's just a love that you can't get back  
It's just a tale of a heart attack  
You feel alive, but you're sinking fast  
Just close your eyes, this won't be your last

**It's not the prayer you repeat at night  
It's not the saint that has seen the light  
It's just the breath that you hold inside  
Just keep your, cool it will be alright**

* * *

Angela's hair was red, worn in a tangle of long, wiry, synthetic dreads. She had large eyes and a broad smile, and freckles.

The complete opposite of Nora.

She was strong, pretty beneath all the makeup she hid behind. She was the lead singer of an all-female nu-punk band called The Mourning Belles. If nothing else, she was amusing, and her antics both on and offstage took the media's attention away from him. So as far as he was concerned she was serving her purpose in his life.

Their arrangement had a desired effect on Angela's life as well. It brought a great deal of attention to her career, if one could call it that. She would do a few shows a week, leave for them drunk, return from them high. Ezekiel was fine with that. It kept her off his back, literally as well as figuratively. She was home, she wasn't home. He didn't know the difference.

He still spent most of his time in his room.

"You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours," she would say.

"I wouldn't touch your back with a meat cleaver," he would reply. She would laugh her ass off.

"Just keep being an asshole. The press digs it. They eat that shit up," she'd say.

He found her one afternoon dead on the kitchen floor. He remembers looking at her curiously, mulling over whether or not he should dress her as she was lying there in nothing but a pair of grey men's briefs (not his) and a pink bra. Her eyes weren't quite closed. Milk from a dropped carton puddled around her head, matting her hair

He thought to himself how strange it was that he could just look at Angela lying that way and feel nothing. The thought of the renewed media attention made him shudder more than anything else. While waiting for the paramedics he wondered how he'd be able to keep things quiet.

Or maybe he'd just grin and bear it this one last time. Maybe not grin. Just let them have their fun, sell their papers and magazines. They'll forget him soon enough. He is, after all, the former member of a band that no longer exists. If he just lets the time go by, doesn't try to choke any more photographers or punch any more reporters, he'll be alright. They'll forget about him.

_Stop feeding the fire._

All this time, instead of beating them all off with a stick, he should have just stopped running.

_I really am stupid._

* * *

**The easy road lies in wait  
Takes its toll  
and all it desires  
Leads you blind  
Leaves you there  
Takes your heart  
and leaves you in silence**

* * *

Ezekiel watches Faye shimmy across the cot until her stockinged feet touch the floor. Every movement of hers is slow and painful. She doesn't look at him.

Ezekiel wishes Bea wouldn't either.

She's still in the same chair, under her quilt, looking very grandmotherly aside from the green acid of her eyes cutting across the room like a laser straight into his forehead.

He's almost afraid to be left alone with her.

"Spike's waiting outside with Jet and Ana. They're gonna drive you guys out as far as the car'll let them," he explains hoarsely. Faye nods then they're both still.

"Your sister will be alright. I'll take good care of her."

She nods again. He clears his throat. His lips move almost unnoticeably, mouthing words he wishes he could say out loud. She stands, eyes on the floor, finding herself very close to him. He breathes through his mouth to keep from inhaling the scent of her. Cruelly, he tastes it on his tongue.

"I'm ready to go," she finally says, breaking her silence. She zips up her bomber jacket after struggling with it for a minute.

"Is there a bathroom in this hole?" Bea snaps. Ezekiel, without looking at her, gestures to his left. Bea eases herself out of the chair from under the quilt like a fragile elderly woman but proceeds to stomp in the direction of the bathroom like a child in the midst of a temper tantrum. It's becoming more and more evident that Ezekiel will have to sleep with his hands protecting his genitals tonight.

"You two said your goodbyes?" he asks.

"Yeah," Faye replies. She won't look at him any higher than his chin. "I'm ready to go," she says again.

She seems to pull herself away from him and towards the door. Ezekiel blinks. His breathing starts to quicken.

"Your shoes," he says, voice cracking.

"Hm?"

"You're not wearing any shoes."

Faye looks down, shaking herself out of her trance. She rolls her eyes, looking embarrassed.

"Jesus," she mutters. She walks back across the room, lowering herself to reach for the shoes she's left under the cot.

Ezekiel gets there first. He wants to touch her one last time before she leaves without getting too close. He can't be sure what the consequences would be if he got too close.

"Sit down," he says quietly. She does.

He loosens the laces on one sneaker, reaches for and cradles the heel of her foot in the palm of his hand. Faye watches silently. She lets out a breath, long and slow. He slips the shoe over her foot then begins tightening the laces.

_She was seconds from walking out the door._

He squeezes his eyes shut.

_What the hell is wrong with you?_

When he opens them again he finds himself holding her other foot, but Faye's taken the second shoe from him.

She holds it just out of his reach, watching him curiously. Before he has time to think it might be a mistake, his arm is up and across her chest in an attempt to take the shoe back from her. Faye's back arches ever-so-slightly, increasing his body's pressure against her breast. He can feel her heart beating.

"Don't..." he pleads.

_Where the hell's Bea gone?_

_She's doing it again. She's trying to force us together._

Faye remains still, her hand in the air, the shoe dangling from her fingers. Their combined breath hangs heavy between them. His body stiffens and softens in all the wrong places. She slowly lifts the foot he hadn't realized he was still holding up and out of his hand, snaking her leg around the back of his.

And then the other shoe drops.

* * *

**She said don't leave us behind  
We'll never be here again  
Our lives are closer this way  
I won't be fooled by the light  
I won't be fooled by the lie**

"You think I'm a whore," she whispers. He finally looks into her face, catching sight of the tear rolling slowly alongside the bridge of her nose. "Is that what you think?"

Ezekiel clenches his jaw. Muscles leap beneath his skin.

"I haven't fucked as many guys as you think," she says casually. Ezekiel tries to look away, "Faye, don't."

"Don't what? Don't talk about the others? Don't say 'fuck'?" she asks hoarsely.

He feels Faye tighten her hand into a fist around his belt buckle.

"Or don't move?" she offers thickly. Ezekiel's voice catches in his throat. He can't stop himself from leaning into the hair framing her face. He feels his knees rising from the floor beneath him as he pushes off the mattress to get closer to her. His hips move involuntarily against hers.

_Spike –_

_He's just outside._

_Where the hell is Bea? She can stop this. I can stop this. _

_I just need to..._

_...stop._

"You were married twice," she says.

"I didn't love either of them," he gasps as her fingers clench, jerking him by his t-shirt further between her thighs. She brings them around him, cradling his hardness, drawing it against her. He groans.

"So which one of us is the whore then?"

Ezekiel wants to grab her and shake her but his arms are the only things keeping him from falling on top of her. "Stop saying that word!" he hisses.

"What? _Whore_? It just breaks your heart, doesn't it?" she spits viciously, finally tapping into her anger. "I'm not that girl anymore! I'm not sure I know _who_ I am! I just know that this person I've become swears and smokes and uses a gun! And yeah, there've been countless bad calls in judgement over the years! Just because she's not good enough for you doesn't give you the right to judge her! She's good enough for the man waiting for her outside and that should be all that matters to her now!"

"Does it matter?" he demands. He wants her but right now he wants to hurt her too. He can't help it. He thrusts against her and she gasps, grabbing a fistful of his shirt, using it in a desperate bid to maintain some distance between them. He thinks about biting her. He's blinded by it.

"Why won't you come?"

He groans a second time. She lifts herself off the cot, grinding against him.

"Why are you staying behind?"

"I told you why."

"Tell me the truth!" she cries. The tears are coming faster now. The hand holding his shirt twists, drilling intently into his chest. "Years," she shouts "years I spent telling you that nothing else mattered as long as we were together! Not your past, not your I.Q., not what our friends or our parents thought! None of that kept you away from my heart! Just your cowardice, you chicken shit, son of a bitch! You never believing that you were good enough for me..." a sob catches halfway in her throat, "And now you're trying to tell me that_ I'm_ not good enough for _you_? Give me some fucking credit for chrissakes! _I'm not an idiot!_"

She suddenly uses all the strength she seems to be able to muster to push him away far enough to give her room to stand. Ezekiel rises to his feet, straightening his jeans across his hips. They stare at each other, both panting for air. Her lips are swollen, her eyes are red. She runs a hand roughly over her eyes, streaking the tears across the whole of her face. He reaches for the shoe that had been forgotten and abandoned on the cot and holds it out to her. She snatches it from him, hopping on one leg to get it on her foot. She heads determinedly for the door.

How he got out of that alive he has no idea.

"Faye..."

Faye's hand wraps around the doorknob. She doesn't look at him.

"I hate you," she says quietly.

It hurts him as much as it did back then. Maybe even more this time around.

"Take care of my sister."

After a beat, the memory of Bea has their eyes meeting immediately. The two look at each other, suddenly panicked.

_Jesus Christ..._

Ezekiel bolts in the direction of the bathroom with Faye stumbling after him.

They find her lying face-down on the filthy floor a mere couple of feet away from the bathroom door.

She never made it.

* * *

**Lyrics from Black Rebel Motorcycle Club's **_**Need Some Air**_** and **_**Killing the Light**_**. Please don't sue.**


	98. The King Is Half Undressed

Well.

It's been a miserable couple of weeks so I'm hoping this chapter didn't suffer too horribly because of that!

Thanks for still reading. I still love you.

ssg.x.

**-**

**I know it's hard for you to see  
The truth behind his misery  
If words could speak they'd mean even less  
When the king is half undressed**

**-**

Ezekiel had disappeared into the alley's shadows over twenty minutes ago.

Spike's knee jiggled impatiently, knocking relentlessly against the back of Ana's seat. Annoyed, she glanced in the rear-view mirror at him and sighed heavily. His eyes, looking less brown than red just then, snapped out of their daze and straight into hers as though daring her to say something. She looked away uncomfortably. Jet gave her hand a squeeze.

There were a few moments of welcomed, unadulterated silence before her irritation was born anew when Spike pulled out his Zippo. The knee jiggling was then replaced by the sound of the lighter opening then snapping shut over and over again.

"I'm sure she's just having a hard time saying goodbye to her sister," Ana offered with a reluctant generosity. Spike's knee started up again. Ana clenched her teeth and her hands tightened on the steering wheel. "Current playlist," she snapped. The car's voice-activated sound system whirred to life.

Spike's knee stopped abruptly.

Whether Spike had heard Nadsat before and recognized the first track off their second album, or just couldn't handle any music at all just that moment, Ana wasn't sure. But either way it won her the desired result. Glaring at her, he pushed against the car door and hopped out, slamming it hard behind him.

Ana grinned. She couldn't help herself.

She looked over at Jet who smirked. He reached out and his thumb and forefinger toyed with the soft lobe of her ear. He leaned over, kissing the dip where her neck met her shoulder, "I'm sorry. He's not usually like this."

"Liar."

Jet chuckled. "Thanks for putting up with him," he said.

Ana smiled, "I'm hoping he'll settle down after he gets his walkies."

Jet stepped outside, stretching his arms up over his head as he strolled to Spike's side.

Ana watched the two of them. Jet reached into the pocket on his vest to pull out a couple of cigarettes. Spike's lighter was sparked, already out and ready to meet him.

She had disliked Spike from the beginning. She didn't know anything about his past, what could possibly have happened to make him the insufferable, mentally unstable, violent bastard he was today. Ana was pretty sure she didn't care to. It would only make it more difficult than it already was to put up with Spike. Because then she'd have to start choosing her words more carefully and demonstrating an even higher level of patience out of pity. Frankly, Ana was self-conscious enough around people without having to worry about injuring the sensibilities of Spike Spiegel. It was hard enough tip-toeing around Jet's.

Jet saw the good things in her, things that even Ana hadn't seen yet. Ana trusted Jet enough to know he wouldn't lie about stuff like that. He told her that Spike was a good guy so she believed him.

She shouldn't be questioning it now.

-

**The fool deserves the bed he's made  
Where idiots slumber**

-

"Whatever's going on down there is probably not what you think," Jet said.

Spike dragged hard on his cigarette. "I don't know what I'm thinking," he replied. "I don't know how much I care anymore."

"That's bullshit," Jet chuckled.

"You have no idea," Spike said tiredly.

"You don't trust him."

"I don't trust _her_."

Jet crinkled his nose, puzzled. "What?"

Spike's wrist flicked sharply, tossing the butt of his cigarette into the dark ahead of them. "The person you thought you'd spend the rest of your life with up and dies, right?"

Jet waved his hand dismissively, "I know where you're going with this. And really you're the one who --"

"I'm aware of the irony," Spike charged.

"Give the broad some credit," Jet said.

"I can't help it, okay? I try to keep it all from going back to Julia but I can't."

"You'd leave Faye if Julia turned up again."

"I don't know," Spike whispered. "I need another cigarette."

Jet obliged, reaching again for the carton in his pocket. "For what's what, I don't think you'd leave Faye. I don't think I've ever seen you lose your shit the way you've lost it over her. And even if I'm wrong about that, you can't just assume Faye would make the same decision. Come on now," he said, guessing both of them needed things to lighten up a bit. "We sound like a couple of housewives pouring over a soap opera."

"I left Faye to be with Julia once already," Spike murmured, accepting Jet's nicotine offering.

"You're not going to tell me you think Faye would leave with Ezekiel just out of spite? You think she'd do something like that just to stick it to you for choosing Julia over u -- her?"

"I don't know," Spike snapped, lips bearing down on the cigarette. He swore under his breath as he struggled with his lighter to get the thing burning.

"Your hands are shaking," Jet said gently, taking the silver Zippo from him and getting it going almost effortlessly. Spike leaned into its flame, inhaling intensely on ignition. His partner's heavy, cybernetic hand settled on his shoulder. He didn't shrug from it.

"What's taking her so long?" he moaned.

-

**In seeing him she knows him less  
His stick is wet she's half undressed  
And all in all they're both obsessed  
With so much nothing**

**-**

"Come on," Ezekiel whispered desperately, holding Bea up by her shoulders. "Come on, come on..." Her head lolled to one side. Her lips fell apart. The only air escaping them was what he could shake from her. "Come on, come on, come on," he begged. "COME ON," he shouted. His cries shook Faye to her very core.

He released Bea, letting her body fall back against the mattress heavily. He let out a strange, twisted laugh, "You can't let your last words to me be 'is there a bathroom in this hole'." He laughed again before choking on a stunted sob, covering his mouth with his hand. "Bea... Please, Bea..."

Faye knelt across from him, resting her head by her sister's. She looked softly into Bea's face, tears prickling her eyes.Faye closed them, conjuring the spirit of the little girl with twinkling green eyes like her big sister squealing as her older brother pushed her on a swing. In another instant she was gripping the hands of her mother and father, swinging between them with her feet off the ground and laughing as they strolled along the sun-bleached boardwalk at the harbour front.

_They're all gone._

"...nothing ... left..." she heard Ezekiel breathe, his voice muffled against the palm of his hand. She hadn't the mind just then to fill in the blanks. The mattress creaked as Ezekiel removed his weight from it. He dragged himself up from his knees, white and sweating as though suffering from some sort of fever. As his hand returned to his side Faye noticed the spot of blood it left behind on the fitted sheet of the mattress. She looked up at him and saw another smear of it on his chin.

"Ezekiel," she began, startled by the sight. But with jagged shivers visibly having their way with him he looked at her as though she'd just appeared out of nowhere. Her eyes wandered. His rumpled t-shirt had risen during his emotional tirade and his dark jeans hung low on his hips. There was a sliver of what looked to be the top of a tattoo inked on his hipbone, although she couldn't make out the design.

"Get the door," he said suddenly.

"The door?" she echoed, returning to her senses. She blushed, her eyes back on his.

"Get the door," he said again, dark eyes blazing. Faye stumbled backwards, turning and pushing her weight against the heavy door. She heard him shuffling around behind her noisily. When she finally managed to open the door wide enough for their exit, she watched Ezekiel brusquely sweep Beatrice's small, spiritless body up into his arms.

-

When it comes to the events leading up to a tragedy you hear things like "it was all a blur" or "it all happened so fast". For Spike instances of sex and death had always happened almost excruciatingly slow. Maybe it was because he was never patient enough to wait for things to come to their natural conclusion. He needed to know how things would play out. He'd always been one of those kids who wanted to read the end of the book before bothering with the rest of it.

Earlier that evening he had promised himself that he would be done with her. If she wanted Ezekiel then so be it. But seeing her after only a few hours and having it feel like it had been days was evidence enough that he would never be able to leave her behind. He hadn't realized how worried he was that she wouldn't ever come out until he saw her face and the anticipation of taking her hand and finally leaving this place behind caught in his throat.

Faye emerged from the shadows looking positively dishevelled. Disoriented. Her sable hair was tangled on one side. _Maybe the side she sleeps on. _

_Maybe the side she --_

He took a half-step towards her when he felt Jet's hand tighten around his arm.

"The car door, Spike," Jet barked. That's when Spike was able to pull back to see the whole picture. As she ran towards the car he could see Ezekiel happening into a pool of light not far behind carrying Beatrice in his arms.

_What...?_

Spike turned and ran to Ana's car. The engine starting up was like a gun going off. He grabbed the handle of the back door, swinging it open. At Ezekiel's insistence, Spike took Beatrice from his arms, stepping aside so that Faye could slide into the backseat.

"Get in," Ezekiel instructed, his voice thick with an unfathomable intensity. There was a time when Spike would have broken the fingers of anyone who dared speak to him that way. And maybe for old time's sake he would later.

Spike eased himself along the back seat cradling Beatrice against his chest. Faye slid in beside him, settling Beatrice's legs across her lap. Ana's communicator was already online with the paramedics.

"They'll be ready for us outside. There's no time to wait for an ambulance," Ana said calmly. Spike couldn't help but be impressed with the girl and her demeanour. It was the second time he'd seen her smooth operating during a crisis.

With only one seat in the car remaining, Jet stepped aside. Ezekiel shook his head firmly.

"Go."

Jet appeared a little stunned. "No, you –"

"Go."

Jet hesitantly got in the passenger's seat, pulling the door closed.

Spike tried to keep from staring at Faye though he was aching for the eye contact. He had never told Jet about Vicious and Julia. Jet believed the bad blood between them was solely about Vicious trying to Macbeth his way up the ladder while Spike was perfectly happy with the status quo. Jet knew Spike had faked his death to leave the syndicate and start a new life with Julia. But Vicious' stranglehold on Spike wasn't just about divided loyalties. As far as Spike was concerned Jet's respect was the only respect worth maintaining and he wasn't about to fuck that up by telling him he'd broken Boys' Club Rule Number One.

And so Jet would never truly appreciate the real irony of the situation. Spike wasn't just 'losing his shit'. His love for Faye wasn't just making him vicious. It was making him Vicious.

Faye's eyes drew him easily from his thoughts. Something unspoken seemed to dangle cautiously from her swollen lips. But something else caught Spike's attention.

Ezekiel stood by her door. He leaned over to peer into the car, staring fuzzily at Beatrice lying in their laps. He raised his hand to touch the window briefly and that's when Spike saw it. Blood -- a mess of it -- skin torn like an animal had ripped into the flesh of his hand. As the car started to pull away and Ezekiel turned and headed in the opposite direction Spike stared curiously at the guitar case strapped to his back.

Ana backed out of the alley and swerved onto Taggart Street, speeding through a maze of side streets and finally turning onto Sleatre Boulevard. Her eyes remained steadily in front of them, foot flat on the break, driving along the road just short of recklessly.

"She's gone," Faye said.

"I know," – quietly -- "Are you okay?"

"No."

"You will be."

Faye nodded, sniffling.

"I thought you'd left me behind," Faye whispered.

"No," he said softly. "Never."

-

**Lyrics quoted from Jellyfish's _The King is Half Undressed._ Don't sue, please_._**


	99. Sewn By The Colour Of Green

**Come on out --  
Don't just sit there and decompose  
Go throw on some summer clothes  
I would enjoy your company  
But please hurry**

**'Cause there's no way of knowing  
No way to know, know how long it will last.  
There's no way of knowing  
No way to know, know how long it will last.**

-

"Spike..."

"Hm?"

"Spike...I'm sorry."

"Sorry...?"

"You need to get dressed. He's on his way here."

Spike's eyes open a fraction only to be met with a sunshine slap-in-the-face. For a few seconds he forgets where he is, until he's assaulted by a shock of cold air as the quilt he's sleeping under is ripped away and there's a violent tugging of the mattress' fitted sheet beneath him, practically tossing him from the bed.

"I'm pretty sure he's booked for another leg-breaking this morning. Or a manicure," Spike mumbles. He swings his legs off the side of the bed, rubs his stubbled jaw, yawns, and reaches his hand out to receive the freshly-deemed traditional black coffee on the go. He gulps too quickly and nearly chokes on its assault.

"Spike, come on. He mentioned dropping by some time before noon. The sun's already up."

She tosses him his pants, nearly spilling the cup's entire contents into his lap. Instead, some of it splashes onto his hand and he swears, leaping to his feet.

"Fuck, Julia!"

Julia is already busying herself with bunching up the sheets and trying to get everything into the bag he's going to have to drop off at the laundromat down the street for Julia to pick up later. He wanders into the kitchen and starts stepping back into his pants. Zipping up, he sits at the table and pulls on the socks he left tucked into his boots last night. It's getting harder and harder to maintain any sense of spontaneity.

"Shirt," Spike mutters. "Tie..."

"You weren't wearing a tie last night, remember?"

"Of course," Spike says. He stopped wearing ties a couple of weeks ago. It's one less thing to have to worry about leaving behind in a hurry. He watches Julia, bemused when she pulls a bucket out of the utility closet. She hands it to him.

"By the bed," she instructs.

"Huh?"

"Put it by the bed. I had the stomach flu last night, remember?"

Spike chuckles sourly.

Julia stops moving, looking stricken. He sees the beginnings of tears in her eyes. Her long hair hangs heavy and wet around her beautiful face. He instantly forgives her for the coffee burn on his hand, bouncing him out of bed, ordering him around like someone's mother. He forgives her for letting him betray his friend, the part she's shared in unleashing an even darker, thirstier Vicious on the world.

They hear the familiar squeaking of the fire escape outside Julia's window and both stop in their tracks. Julia's lips move, "No..."

She'd probably opened the window after getting Vicious' call, preparing Spike's escape route in advance. _There's no way she would have left it open all night._

"Shit," Spike grunts. He cautiously, quietly takes two backward strides across eggshells to the jacket folded over one of the kitchen chairs. Julia's eyes widen, she seems to be trying to shake her head to get her message across with as little movement as possible. He can almost hear her heart beating from across the room desperately between his ears.

Spike reaches beneath the folds of his jacket. He hears an abrupt ceasing of movement outside and looks to Julia. Tears run over her cheeks.

"Spike," she whispers. "Please don't..."

His hand touches his holster but he doesn't move until he has the butt of his gun firm against his palm. His fingers weave around it and he spins with the weapon out at arm's length. Julia screams.

They stand across from eachother, Julia's hands are over her ears. Her eyes are closed tightly. Spike's gun is aimed at the window.

"Julia?"

Julia slowly opens her eyes. They recognize the voice as that of her downstairs neighbour, Voula.

"Julia?" she calls a second time.

Julia calls back hoarsely, "Hi, Voula."

"Are you okay?"

"Yes. A mouse -- I just saw a mouse," she replies shakily.

Voula laughs, "Maybe it's the same one that had dinner with us last night! Listen, I got alot of extra laundry to dry. Mind if I hang some stuff up on your railings?"

Julia shoots Spike a biting glare then pokes her head out the window. "Go ahead," she offers with attempted cheerfulness. She closes the window, and turns back to look at him. Spike tries to decipher the emotion behind the expression on her face. He comes up with nothing.

His shoulders drop, arms fall to his sides. "What? I'm supposed to just take the chance that –"

"Would you have pulled the trigger? Would you really have killed him?" she asks weakly. She sounds like she's going to be sick.

Spike looks down at the gun in his hand. He's almost surprised to see it there. "I guess I would've."

"Jesus, Spike..."

He can't stand the way she's looking at him right now – like she's disappointed in him. Maybe a little scared.

"If it came down to him or me... I mean... I wouldn't have killed him if I didn't have to," Spike tries to clarify. He's not sure what he's telling Julia is the truth, though. She's not letting up.

"Vicious doesn't even know anything yet," she says.

"_Yet?_" Spike squints at her, hoping she's not thinking about... "You're thinking about telling him, aren't you?"

Julia stares silently at her feet. She looks as though she's about to say something –

"You're out of your mind," Spike snorts, waving his hand dismissively.

Julia cringes, "I think you can put the gun away now."

Spike places the gun on the kitchen table as he grabs his holster. He fumbles to get his arm through the harness.

_Out of her fucking mind, that's what she is._

He reaches around himself and spins in sheer frustration as though the leather is an eel nimbly avoiding his grasp.

_She thinks he doesn't know just because he hasn't seen it with his own eyes. She thinks he's the same man he was only a year ago. She'll tell him and it'll break his heart but there're plenty of other fish in the sea..._

_She can't possibly be that naive._

Spike feels Julia approaching him from behind. Her hands close firmly around his arms, effectively stopping his spinning, rooting him to the spot. He remains still as she pulls the harness up and over his shoulders. Her hands move over his tired muscles like water smoothing and cooling everything in their wake. He shifts his weight to his heels, letting himself lean back into her hands. He feels her warm breath on his bicep, hears the snap of the ammo carrier beneath his arm, then silence.

Spike doesn't want Julia to know that it could very well be that Vicious, wise to what's been happening behind his back, is just waiting for his moment. That would be more like him. Vicious has always been the director, and Spike his leading actor. It could be that Spike's part has already been recast. _And Julia..._

"Spike?"

Spike sighs and looks up at the ceiling fan. He's staring, and then he's spinning again.

"I need to believe we'll all get out of this okay. Because if I don't then this all has to end now."

She's shivering against him. She turns her face into the sleeve of his shirt and mutters, "It's awful. I love you."

It's the first time she's said it to him.

Spike reacts the same way he reacts to most startling occurrences. He reaches for his gun.

"I love you," he says, tucking the weapon back into its wallet.

It's his first time saying it, too. Ever.

And she's right. This is awful.

Not knowing what to say or do next, they pull away from eachother. Julia's thumb and forefinger pinch the bridge of her nose. She reaches out behind her, finding his trench coat and handing it to him. All the while her eyes are closed. He walks across the room and opens the window.

"Wait," she says. She brings him the bag of laundry and he pushes it ahead of him, out the window. He gets both legs out onto the fire escape then hesitates.

"Creamed corn," he says. Julia cocks her head to one side.

"What?"

"For the bucket. Creamed corn and oxtail soup mix. Very realistic. Fooled my parents every time."

She wrinkles her nose and laughs. "That's disgusting."

A heartbeat.

They carefully lean into one another and Spike catches her lips with his own. The kiss is soft, chaste. It's unlike any of their previous kisses because it stems less from a need than a wish. The colour slowly returns to her cheeks. He throws the laundry bag over the railing, hears the dull thud it makes as it hits the ground two floors below.

"I love you," he risks the pain the whispered words inflicted on him the first time they were spoken.

He finds it's not quite so bad this time.

-

**As Suggested by the Calculations of Copernicus**

**This first kiss on this cold street  
could have jailed Galileo  
for the heavenly point it proves  
but tonight, merely moves  
our two souls into steady revolution  
around and about the warm fixed fact  
of our brilliant lips**

**-Jason Guriel**

-

Faye's head rested in his lap. He gingerly stroked her hair, pulling it back from her face, tucking it behind her ear. She slept beneath his parka, legs curled beside him. Her sleeping sighs hurt his heart.

They didn't need a doctor to tell them that Beatrice was gone. _Her heart had just decided to stop_. That was the way Jet had decided to explain it to Faye, the way one would to a child. He had left out the whole "she's in a better place" bit, probably because he didn't know for sure and was a lousy liar.

Spike looked out the car window. The ship was a ways off, blacker against a black sky. Thunder rumbled, lightening occasionally lit up the inside of Ana's car like blue fire, and Faye was just beautiful. Ethereal. Spike could only hope Beatrice was wherever this peaceful, dreaming Faye was now.

"Where are we?"

"You're awake?"

"Yes," she said.

"We're in the car. You fell asleep," he explained. "Jet and Ana are back on the ship. When the rain eases up we'll make a run for it. I didn't want to wake you up – I thought you could use the sleep."

That was part of it.

Faye climbed out from under the parka and rubbed her eyes. Disappointed, he watched her slowly shirk off what was left of his sleep spell.

"Why did we come back here?" she asked in a small voice. She sat upright and straightened herself against the seat, shoulders tensed, hands folded and pressed into her lap like she didn't know what else to do with them. For the first time it struck Spike that he hadn't seen her with a cigarette in weeks. It was just one more thing to remind him that she was changing, that he was losing her. Varying shades of blue filled every corner of the car's interior as lightening struck again, over the water. Outlined by its light, the ship looked like a hulking, hungry beast waiting in the dark to swallow them whole. Faye winced, turning away.

"You promised we'd leave tonight."

"That was before... everything happened," Spike said. "I thought you'd need time to – "

"I don't."

"Faye –"

"I don't. Please. You promised," she exploded.

Spike looked at her with disbelief. "Jesus Faye," he whispered incredulously, "you want me to hotwire the car, for Chrissakes? We just got back from the hospital. We'll get some sleep tonight and – "

_She's so goddamn infuriating sometimes._

"I can't sleep anymore. They're all I can see when I close my eyes and then I open them and... " The rush of words left her looking dizzy, "I wish the memories never found me. I wish all the ghosts would leave me alone. But you can talk to them. You can talk to the ghosts," she entreated, reaching for his shirt collar with both hands.

_You're losing her again._

"You're the only one I know who can talk to ghosts," she whispered.

Spike's heart was in a fist. He watched her spinning, anguish pulling at his features and not knowing how to stop her. Lightening crackled. Her skin lit up as though suddenly encompassed by silver flame. Electrified, she touched his knee and he felt the heat of it in his gutt. She leaned into him and he found his body being thrown against hers by no conscious will of his own.

His lips snagged hers, their mouths simultaneously melting into the others'. He pulled her closer, vanquishing any space that remained between them. She climbed into his lap, locking herself in. Beneath his shirt her fingernails raked painfully across his back. He jerked the collar of her top over her shoulder, ripping into the soft skin that hid beneath it. She moaned her approval and rocked against him. His hand tightened around a fistful of her hair, twisting her neck to reconcile his hunger for her flesh.

The rain was at its heaviest then. The sound was almost deafening. Spike felt a shiver move through Faye.

"Are you okay?" he murmured.

"I need the voices to stop. The only voice I want in my head right now is yours," she whispered. The tip of her tongue circled his earlobe. "The only thing I want inside me right now is you."

She'd been walking against a wind for weeks now, tethered to Spike's strength and will. But he needed to be more than an anchor. He needed to reclaim his position as a force to be reckoned with.

Rousing the demon he'd believed had left him for good, he grinned.

"Then let's go."

-

Lyrics from The Gandharvas' _The First Day of Spring_ were quoted in this chapter. Please don't sue.


	100. Your Ex Lover Is Dead

Chapter 100. Holy crud.

I love you so.

ssg.x.

-

**Bloodless  
And brainless  
Sleeping  
I'm dreamless  
The planet spins on a dime  
Spits on mine**

-

Apparently he was known as Riddler. And he would have killed Faye if it wasn't for Spike.

-

Ezekiel had to watch the entire thing from across the street, doubled over between a newsstand and his guitar case, crippled by chest pains. Distorted sound and vision set his stomach turning and the burning heart behind his ribs threatened to swallow him up in its flames. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes to stop the spinning.

"Fuck, no...Please not now," he groaned. Shots rang out and he sank to his knees, defeated.

When he was a child he wanted to be a superhero. His parents constantly discouraged his daydreaming and imaginative play by telling him it was blasphemous. "Only God can have superpowers, Ezekiel."

When he was eight his mother reacted to finding his Green Lantern comics the same way another mother might react to finding a stack of Hustlers in his closet.

She grabbed him by his shoulder, shaking one of the books in his face. "You shall not make for yourself an idol, whether in the form of anything that is in heaven above, or that is on the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth!"

She knelt on the floor, peering under the bed and collecting the rest of the books there. "You shall not bow down to them or worship them; for I the Lord your God am a jealous God..."

Ezekiel watched silently, expressionless. He'd learned at an even earlier age that when either one of his parents was on auto-bible there was really no reasoning with them. His best plan of action was to remain calm for the time being then attempt to track down the comics after his parents have gone to bed. And anyways, his mother could strip his room bare but she could never get into his head. His dreams remained his own.

A simple, sharp intake of breath would be all it took to strike down his enemies with lightening. He'd throw his arms back to bring about the fiercest winds and control the undercurrents of the ocean. His fists striking the ground would break apart the earth and his cries would shatter the sky.

But that was so long ago now, back to a time when he still had dreams. And now he found himself the one broken apart and shattered.

"Hey, Spiegel. You must need a fix bad."

The guy manning the newsstand peered over the counter he'd ducked behind at the sound of the gunfire, looking down at Ezekiel and cocking his head to one side.

"Oh hey, buddy. I'm sorry. I thought you were someone else. You alright?"

Ezekiel shook his head.

"You been shot?"

"No," he grunted, "there's a girl... across the street."

"Across the street? Yeah, I see her. She's on the ground."

_She's on the ground._

Ezekiel closed his eyes, swallowing hard. He tried to put together a coherent thought but his chest seized again, wiping his mind clean of a single word or picture. He could make out the shape of a man hiding behind a parked car, his daughter held tightly against him. His hands shielded her ears from the sounds of the gun going off again and again.

_I couldn't protect her._

"Goddamn bounty hunters. Greedy bastards don't give a shit what innocent bystander gets caught in the crossfire so long as they get their money. Fucking cops just look the other way. Lazy, that's what they are, letting those sociopaths do all the work for them." Probably finally noticing Ezekiel's severe disinterest in the newsman's editorial rant he said, "It looks like the girl's okay, buddy. She's getting up."

"Thank you," Ezekiel wheezed. He clutched his left arm, pushing his right against the storefront to get back on his feet. Eventually the four Fayes he saw blended into one and he was instantly able to recognize the pretty, green dress she wore the night of the cast party.

"Yeah, no problem. You don't look good."

_Perceptive, idiot._

_Beatrice..._

"I can't do it anymore," he whispered.

"What was that?" the newsman asked. "I didn't hear you. You sick? You want me to call you an ambulance?"

"No," he whispered.

"Your girl's up and gone, buddy. That guy I mistook you for – Spiegel – he's running the show now."

_Spike._

"Another one of those bounty hunters. A good guy. He gets his cigarettes from me. I give him a bit of a tax break, if you know what I mean. He can't be making much of a living at this bounty business, seeing as how he's always wearing that same suit. And he always asks how my wife is doing. Now that other guy, he's a nasty piece of work."

"Other guy?" Ezekiel tentatively unfolded himself. The newsman offered him his hand, reaching over the counter and rustling the piles of newspaper beneath his arm. Ezekiel accepted his offer, grabbing his wrist and using it to pull himself back into a standing position.

"The Riddler," the newsman replied, happy to have finally piqued Ezekiel's interest. "Another bounty hunter. Always leaves a mess behind. That girl of yours is lucky she didn't get her head blown off, lemme tell you."

Another wave of nausea hit. He blinked hard, trying to get his eye's focus back.

_What the hell kind of name is 'The Riddler'?_

-

**I can ride my bike with no handlebars  
I can keep rhythm with no metronome  
And I can hit a target through a telescope**

-

It didn't take long to find Riddler, aka Mickey Dufrane. The newsman was right – he always left a mess behind. And tracking through his own mess, Riddler had left a clear track for Ezekiel to follow. Bartenders and "business associates". A young hooker he'd left his mark on in the form of two missing front teeth and a chipped canine.

Beatrice was dead and all he could think was that he could just kill somebody.

The Riddler had him convinced that he would never be able to protect Faye the way Spike could. Ezekiel was dead weight. He couldn't risk that Faye might walk headfirst into a bullet looking back over her shoulder to make sure he was alright. He couldn't watch her die again. She'd already died a hundred times over in his nightmares.

If it wasn't for the Riddler incident he never would have broken his promise to Beatrice. He never would have pushed Faye away the way he had. And Bea would have at least left this world with some ounce of respect for him. His stomach churned when he thought back to the vehement look in her eyes before disappearing into the back in search of the bathroom, the vicious cut of her last words to him against his throat.

High on a heavy dose of twisted logic,Ezekiel had tracked him down within mere hours. He waited for him across the street from The Snake and The Mongoose Pub in the pouring rain and mercifully it turned out he didn't have to wait long. Riddler was thrown out after disagreeing rather violently with the bartender's decision to cut him off.

"Don't do it."

"That's not really up to you."

Ezekiel's gun swayed heavily from his right hand. He had to retrain himself after his left arm had decided to crap out on him one too many times. He was pleased he'd been able to make the transition from left to right so smoothly.

"Listen, it was a joke! I wasn't really going to kill her! I was just having a little fun with her!"

Riddler reached up carefully to wipe his mouth. His hand was shaking. The blood wouldn't stop. He'd lost his two front teeth when Ezekiel cornered him, quickly busting his mouth open with the end of his guitar case. That was for the hooker.

"How 'bout _we_ have some fun together."

"I already told Spiegel I wouldn't touch her! I promised I wouldn't go near her again!" The man began to back away along the ground, slowly as though Ezekiel were an animal he didn't want to spook.

Ezekiel wrapped the long fingers of one hand around the pump, pulling back and bracing himself for the staggering recoil as he aimed and pulled the trigger with his other hand. It sent shockwaves through his entire body and fire through his veins. A trash can by Riddler's head was sent from the ground in a spectacular explosion of garbage and old newspaper. Ezekiel thought that putting the fear in Riddler would satiate at least a sliver of his appetite for destruction in the wake of Bea's death. But firing the gun had just the opposite effect. He wanted more.

He turned his attention back to Riddler.

Panicked, Riddler began reaching for anything he thought might soothe the demon rising in Ezekiel. "I could have killed Valentine anytime I wanted! I could have killed her but I didn't!"

_You're a selfish bastard._

_Don't, Bea..._

_Don't what? Don't say what you're thinking out loud?_

Ezekiel squeezed his eyes shut and gave his head a good, sobering shake. Hot tears ran down his cheeks. He dipped to one side dizzily, the gun suddenly feeling like more weight than he could carry.

_If you let her die I'll never forgive you for it. I'll make sure your heart stops beating before it finally decides to on its own._

"I said I'd stay away from her! What the hell else do you want me to do?" Riddler shouted.

Ezekiel's eyes snapped open.

"Can you bring back the dead?"

He pulled the trigger, clenching his teeth and willing his arm to steady his weapon of choice. Riddler was thrown back into the garbage cans. Unanchored, they smashed the silence as they bounced against the brick walls of the alley.

It was raining hard. Ezekiel stared at the ground, watching the water puddle around his boots before streaming out into the street, taking Riddler's lifeblood with it. He returned his gun and its shell casings to the guitar case then flipped the clasps back into place.

The rain had long permeated the layers of clothing he wore. He was tired, spent. He felt like he could put his head down and sleep for days. He wanted to get into something dry and just close his eyes for a little while. He thought about his blanket and his couch back at Bea's place and unconsciously began to head in that direction, leaving the Riddler behind with a hole the size of a fist where his heart would have been if he'd ever had one.

-

**Maybe we don't know  
Maybe we don't show  
But I don't think you understand  
And I can be the better man  
Still I don't see the summer gone  
And I don't feel your heart has sung  
But I won't be the one you love  
Because your whole world has got to start**

-

Ezekiel lay on the living room floor of Bea's apartment.

He wasn't hungry but he had eaten a few forkfuls of Bea's leftover casserole anyways. She'd made it especially for him two days ago. She had wanted him to eat something to keep his strength up. He hadn't touched it. Not until now. He thought maybe it would please her to see that he was finally appreciating it.

He'd gone into the bathroom, found the first aid kit she kept for him beneath the sink. He poured the half empty bottle of alcohol over his injured hand and wrapped it up tightly with gauze. He fumbled to tie the ends into a knot, something Bea usually did for him, but his hands were shaking. He ground his teeth together, focusing on the task at hand, and still ended up doing a shoddy job of it.

_You can barely take care of yourself. How can you expect to take care of me too?_

Jesus Christ, she was right.

He lay down flat on the plush carpet, arms out at his sides. He stared up at the track lighting on the ceiling. It started to spin like the blades of a propeller but he didn't look away. The eyes of the dearly departed watched him from every wall. He could still taste his own blood in his mouth. He wanted to throw up. His wet shirt and jacket clung to him like a stocking. The entire walk over his boots weighed him down like blocks of cement and he was happy to have them out from under him.

He wasn't sure he wanted to know would happen to her things now that she was gone, but he wondered about it nonetheless. Would it all be divvied up and shipped out to her family? Would it be donated to charity? The apartment was packed wall to ceiling with picture frames, knick knacks, and books. There was an entire room devoted solely to what was formerly Faye's ceramic doll collection. The closet within was filled with boxes of baby clothes, hand-made birthday cards from her children and grandchildren, and some of Faye's old dresses.

His eyes closed and his breathing deepened. Before heading out to find Riddler, Ezekiel contacted Dr. Pheng Tzu, the man who had overseen Ezekiel's "thawing". He had been a good friend and former intern of Bea's husband and was the one who would be making the arrangements for Bea's body to be returned to her children in accordance to her wishes. His daughter would be taking care of everything else. He was informed that he would have access to the apartment for two more months although he was almost a hundred percent sure he wouldn't be hanging around much longer.

There was nothing left for Ezekiel to do. He had successfully managed to delegate all responsibilities and now he felt empty and aimless.

It felt good for about three minutes.

-

**This scar is a fleck on my porcelain skin  
Tried to reach deep but you couldn't get in  
Now you're outside me  
You see all the beauty  
Repent all your sin**

-

_Breathe._

_Breathe._

_Please breathe._

"Please breathe."

Ezekiel opens his eyes a measure, coming face-to-face with just that -- his face. He jumps.

"Christ," he gasps. Faye was crouched down beside him holding a compact mirror under his nose.

"I wasn't sure if you were breathing," she offers by way of explanation, seeming only mildly concerned. But he could swear he heard her voice break trying to wake him just seconds before he opened his eyes.

Ezekiel brings himself up on one elbow. He rubs his eyes, "What are you doing here?"

"What happened to your hand?"

"You first."

Faye snaps the compact closed, returning it to the pocket of her bomber jacket. She looks away, "The box of stuff Bea put together for me. I came back for it."

"It's by the door where you left it," he says, grimacing as he inadvertantly puts pressure on his bandaged hand to crawl out from under her. He stands and tugs at his wet clothes. The fabric is in the later stages of fusing to him like a second skin. He looks down at the carpet and sees the damp, snow angel-like imprint his body has left behind.

He wonders if he actually managed to fall asleep and for how long. If he had actually fallen asleep it was a waste of time. He doesn't feel at all rested. He scrambles desperately for other inane thoughts. Anything that has a chance of distracting him from looking at Faye. Cold, wet Faye.

"Is it still raining?"

"Ezekiel, your hand. What happened to your hand?"

He doesn't know how to answer her question.

"You did that to yourself, didn't you?" Faye doesn't hesitate to reach across the gap between them to grab the hand. He tries to pull back but she's quick. Her whole body seems to soften as she cradles his hand gently, uncomfortably close to her breast.

Catching him off guard, she presses her thumb into the palm of his hand, directly into the heart of the injury. He cries out.

"And _I'm_ the monster! What the hell is the matter with you?" She pushes deeper into the wound. "How could you do something like this to yourself?"

"Because there was no one close enough to kill," he hisses. He pulls himself free, hiding his hand behind his back, away from her. He glares at her, his eyes ablaze.

There. It's out.

He likes the kill. He didn't at first but now he wonders if it was just because he hadn't been doing it right those first few times. God had been doing such a shitty job for so long that Ezekiel decided to run for office. And now he found it was like a drug.

He's the monster. He's the one who lost his soul along the way.

He can't describe Faye's expression. There's disgust – that seems to be the majority of it -- but there's sadness too. She continues to mourn the death of a boy long dead.

"Where's the guitar case?" she asks quietly. She's starting to shake.

He looks at her suspiciously. "Why are you asking?"

"Spike told me you left the pawn shop with your guitar case. It's the same one I found the gun in, isn't it," she says quietly. "Ezekiel," -- with the beginnings of tears in her eyes – "What did you do?"

Ezekiel shakes his head, "You should go."

"Where's the guitar case?" she asks more firmly this time. Her voice is stretched tight like a wire. Her head is cocked ever-so-slightly to one side. Her body is a mere breath before movement.

He's too slow to catch her.

She breaks into a run, heading straight for Bea's bedroom. Ezekiel kicks an ottoman out of his way chasing her. She swings open the door to the closet. By the time he gets to the doorway she already has the guitar case in her hands. She hauls it up against her chest, promptly striking it hard enough against the floor to pop it open causing everything within to tumble out noisily in a pile between them.

He raises his eyes to meet hers.

"Don't touch it," he says.

Faye's eyes narrow, "Or you'll hurt me?"

Ezekiel winces, stricken. "You know I'd never –"

"I don't know anything about you," she spits. She feigns a grab for the gun and he involuntarily jumps towards her. He stops in his tracks when he realizes her trick. She laughs bitterly and the sound hurts his head.

"I was afraid the gun would go off by accident. I wouldn't have touched you if I didn't have to," he says. Visibly stricken, her eyes widen and her jaw drops just the tiniest bit. He silently berates himself for his inability to keep his thoughts from constantly derailing on their way to his tongue. Everything he's ever said to her comes out wrong.

"Is this what I've turned you into? It's like I've poisoned you," she says, more to herself than to him. "Is there any of the Ezekiel I used to know in there?"

_Used to love._

He bites into his bottom lip, really thinking about it.

"I don't know," he answers hoarsely.

She steps carefully over the gun to where the guitar case lies open on the floor. "Bea seemed to think so," she says softly. She lifts the guitar case from the floor, gently placing it on the bed. Ezekiel watches her silently as she feels around the faux-velvet lining of the case. When she seems satisfied that she's found the x that marks the spot, she tugs fiercely at the fabric, ripping it away from the duct tape that was holding it in place. She doesn't look surprised with her findings.

-

**It's nothing but time and a face that you lose  
I chose to feel it and you couldn't choose  
I'll write you a postcard  
I'll send you the news  
From a house down the road from real love**

-

"Bea told me about it," Faye explains, untangling the old biology notebook carefully from the plastic wrap that had been protecting it. Ezekiel isn't surprised. He knew Bea would try to trip him up somehow. Faye looks up at him occasionally, probably trying to gauge his reaction as she gets closer and closer to the secret, closer to his heart.

She opens the book and carefully turns the pages. On the inside cover, scrawled over and over again in her most perfect handwriting, is what was once her imagined married name.

_Faye Ezekiel Chadwick  
Faye Ezekiel Chadwick  
Faye Ezekiel Chadwick  
Faye Ezekiel Chadwick_

A tear rolls down her cheek and she brushes it away quickly. Ezekiel, God help him, can't help but blush, just as he had the first time he'd noticed the writing one afternoon they'd spent studying together by the baseball diamond behind their school. As it turned out, even with all her help he still managed to fail that test. But how was he expected to concentrate on studying after something like that?

She traces the writing delicately with the tip of her finger. Ezekiel finally has to look away. He rakes his fingers through his tangled hair and leans his weight on one leg, then the other.

The letter is folded in half and tucked between the pages of her notebook. It's hard to place its date and almost harder to read the writing if you're attempting it for the very first time. But Faye is an old hand at translating his "hieroglyphics" as she used to call them.

_Dear Faye,_

_You'd hate the person I am now. Maybe it's better that you won't remember who I was because you could never love the person I've become._

She brings her hand to her mouth, sobbing into it. "She told me you carry this around with you, and that there are others. Are there others?"

Ezekiel's shoulders drop. "Yeah, there are others," he mutters.

"Ezekiel --"

He stares up at the ceiling, "Why did you really come? I mean besides to humiliate me."

"I don't know. And I'm not trying to humiliate you."

"Does Spike know you're here?"

"No, I don't suppose he does. He was sleeping when I left him."

Ezekiel tries to shake the immediate image that comes to mind of Spike lying beside her, his arms wrapped tightly around her naked body. Their skin slick with sweat, their bed sheets in knots around their tired limbs. Thinking about it is painful. Having seen it for himself is agony in its purest form.

He hadn't told Bea that he'd watched the whole disc, from the moment they'd entered the bedroom to the moment her eyes fell closed, exhausted after the act itself. He watched her sleeping in real time and it didn't matter which way Ezekiel twisted his head or how much he screwed up his eyes – it still didn't look like he was sleeping beside her in Spike's place.

"You need to stop this. You're killing yourself," Faye says.

"Are you kidding me?" he glares at her. "It hasn't even been a day since I tried to stop this. I know you have trouble remembering things but --"

"Don't be mean," she warns, pointing a finger at him. "You're acting like this isn't having any affect on me at all. I woke up alone and for three years I tried to find out where I came from, because for all I knew I was hatched from a fucking egg! My whole world had been destroyed and now you tell me that you expected I'd spend my remaining years standing in the ruins choking on the dust left behind? Don't you dare try to make me feel guilty for trying to make a life for myself after that accident! You went on with yours!"

"My life was over the second yours ended!" he shouts. "You were at least granted the luxury of never knowing I existed!"

Faye's hand tightens into a fist around the letter, crushing it. She throws it to her side. Her eyes are shiny and hard like quartz, dribbling angry tears. "I'd remember everything too if I had kept every little stupid piece of paper --"

Ezekiel stares at the crumpled letter as though it's his living, breathing heart lying there by her feet. He comes out of the shock just in time to see her about to start tearing the pages out of her notebook. His notebook. In an instant all he can see is red.

"Don't!" he shouts, making a grab for the book. She manages to dodge him, holding it away from him. The room seems to start spinning. Faye holds the book in midair. He'll never be sure whether or not she would actually have gone through with destroying it had he not managed to stop her.

Willing his strength to return to him he rises to his full height absolutely livid. His dark eyes are scintillating. "I'll be damned before I let you kill her," he rasps.

Flushed with rage he darts at her. The ferocity with which the action is executed catches her off guard and she spins, stumbling over the gun still lying on the carpet. His hand closes around her wrist and as she falls she pulls him along with her.

-

In his dreams she's rising from her seat like a spirit from her tomb every night in his head. Her hands, fingers are outstretched, reaching desperately for the fasteners but it's too late. She's already floating too far above and her hands search for the ceiling of the ship instead. She just wants to stop moving.

A bubble of blood escapes her nostril. And then another. They begin to slip from her throat when she tries to scream. There's never any sound in these dreams.

Faye's fingers clutch at her chest moments before it breaks open like a dollhouse. Inside he sees a girl swinging to and fro on a swing. There's a sun glowing fiercely where Faye's heart was only a moment before.

The dream ends the same way, too. Every night he tries to reach out for the girl on the swing and every night Faye slams the door to her heart closed, almost catching his finger in it. Ezekiel is sorry it doesn't.

But tonight is not like the others.

Tonight he catches her.

-

Seconds before Faye's skull is about to collide with the solid wood of Bea's old vanity, Ezekiel's arm captures her about her waist. He pulls her against him and the momentary shifting of their collective weight allows her enough time to break their fall by putting one arm out in front of her and against the counter top. His body slams against the back of hers as they come in for a crash landing. She cups her hand over his injured one, protecting it from the impact.

After catching their breath, they both look up almost simultaneously.

And right there in the mirror, in the very last place either of them would have thought to look, was the dark-haired girl before the broken home, and the brown-eyed boy before the broken heart.

-

**Lyrics quoted from The Flobots' **_**Handlebars**_**, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club's **_**Pretend**_**, Stars' **_**Your Ex-Lover Is Dead**_**, and Nadsat's **_**Stupor**_**. Don't sue, please.**


	101. When The Sun Is Drowned

So,

I hope you're healthy and happy and somewhere wonderful. If you're not, I hope that during this new year you will be. I love you.

ssg.x.

-

Floating neither up or down  
I wonder when I hit the ground  
Will the earth beneath my body shake  
And cast your sleeping heart awake  
Could it tremble stars from moonlit skies  
Could it drag a tear from your cold eyes  
I live on the right side  
I sleep on the left  
That's why everything's got to be love or death  
Yes, this fear's got a hold on me

-

Spike didn't attach any symbolism or sentiment to rain.

He didn't liken it to washing away guilt, making new vows, or renewing old vows. He didn't associate it with death, sadness, or sex. It rained the day Julia died but if you asked him he wouldn't know with one hundred percent accuracy if that were true. Maybe it rained the day she died, or the day she was put into the ground. Maybe it didn't. There wasn't enough room in his head that day, or for several days that followed, for more than a single thought; that Julia was gone.

He wouldn't forget last night. He wouldn't forget the rain. Faye wore it like a gossamer skin. There was no separating one from the other so they'd remain forever entwined in his memory this way.

_Last night._

_-_

Last night her arms were out in front of her, loosely linked around the back of his neck. They were both exhausted but determined. Their combined breaths were distorted; urged or delayed by sighs, moans, and the odd utterance of the other's name. He reached out for her and she leaned her face against the palm of his hand as though her head was too heavy for her to hold up alone.

Faye arched her back. Whether or not it was on purpose he couldn't know but it sent shockwaves through the length of his body and he gasped, laughing as their mouths melted into each other's.

Spike was happy.

Not just sex happy. Love happy.

_Love happy_ – its stupidity and sugary sentiment sent him into a fit of giggles.

Jesus, he was tired.

He groaned, relishing the smile he was able to coax from her swollen, pink lips. His hands seemed to break up into sea foam against the wall of her searing flesh. He caught a glimpse of her cat eyes burning beneath the dark tangle of her hair, through the bramble of his, and despite the heat a sudden frisson coursed through his spine.

They carefully dressed each other. She buttoned up his shirt, lightly kissing his collarbone. He drew her hands through the sleeves of her top with his own. Spike knelt on the ground outside of the open car door, water pooling around his knees as he slipped her shoes back onto her feet. Seeing that there was still no end in sight as far as the pouring rain was concerned, Spike held his open parka over her head like a canopy – or tried to -- as they made a dash from Ana's car towards the ship. Faye ran ahead of him, practically leaping through winter's rain and leaving puddles exploding behind her. Spike eventually gave up trying to shield her from it all and held himself back a few feet behind her, slowing to a walk just so he could watch her dance.

-

Spike woke up and in the place where Faye's eyes were supposed to be -- closed beneath sleep-dusted lashes -- was the bundled up t-shirt and boxers she'd gone to bed with. He pulled the width of blankets she'd hogged and held onto like grim death last night over himself, sinking back into the bed.

His usual immediate panic in reaction to not finding her where he'd left her had dulled considerably since last night. She seemed herself again. He'd become familiar with a variety of different breeds of sex over the years and despite what most women probably believed, Spike Spiegel could tell the very distinct differences between 'revenge sex', 'just sex', and 'love sex'. He wouldn't place any bets on it but he was fairly certain that the whirlwind of events last night had included the latter.

There was a time when Spike had no qualms or prejudgements about any sort of sex as long as occasionally he was on the receiving end of it. The opportunity would arise and that was pretty much all it took to engage him. If he was totally honest with himself, he wasn't really fond of the women he'd been with, and he liked it that way. Sex seemed spectacular back then, and he'd always attributed that to being able to keep his mind or matters of the heart from getting involved. Of course now he knew it was spectacular because he was young and inexperienced, and thus would have deemed the simple act of humping a tree as "spectacular".

During his time in the syndicate he'd been with one hooker, because according to a number of syndicate acquaintances "you need to try it at least once". He'd also slept with two women married to other Dragon members. He was only able to get away with those indiscretions because he did it from behind Mao Yenrai's protective wing. One of the wives wanted it to be a regular thing but by then he'd met Julia. Even though she was involved with Vicious and at that point in time still had trouble even remembering Spike's name, he still remained curiously faithful to her.

It was never the same after Julia. Sex was an act and Spike was no actor. Unexpected and unrehearsed, Spike and Julia consummating their would-be relationship was like someone fucking with the colour saturation of the strung-together images of his life leading up to that moment; drab images still thirsty for colour long after she was gone. While he'd come to accept that he might never have that again, every so often he couldn't help but look for it.

His path briefly crossed with that belonging to a woman named Electra.

He believed she could bring dead butterflies back to life. He could have sworn he'd felt them brush against his lips that night, across his bare chest, like laurels tangled in her wet hair. The colours were so rich and inviting and he wanted so badly to be warm inside them. They were gone by morning, burned up by an ugly sun, and all that was left was the hangover.

The colour had gone out from both of them, maybe absorbed into her sheets, or dried up in the air. Electra looked surprised to find him in her bed. She didn't say it out loud, but he knew that as far as that night had been concerned, she had spent it with a dead man.

A different dead man.

Spike remembers being surprised, too. He was still a little disoriented from being exposed to chemicals the night before. Through the early morning haze he made out one naked shoulder exposed to the cold air, deep violet hair striking against the white pillow beneath it.

His lips were dry, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth when he tried to open it. He wanted to say her name to find out if...

"Fa –"

Electra's arm emerged from beneath the white sheet, exposing the tattoo on the inside of her wrist. He'd stopped himself. It wasn't who he thought it was. He'd come to his senses just in time.

-

Faye was sitting gingerly on the bed beside him wearing a bathrobe, her hair wrapped in a towel. She seemed to be staring off into space the seconds before he tried to speak and the word "hi" came out as a croak instead. She turned and smiled brightly, "How did you sleep?"

Spike raked a hand through his hair, rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Good. How 'bout you?"

She raised her arms to the towel on her head, letting her hair fall free of it. Her bathrobe shifted, exposing the snow-white slope of one breast. Distracted, he asked "What time is it?"

"About one o'clock, I think."

Spike's stomach growled obscenely. "I think it's closer to two," he said.

Faye smirked, "You and that bottomless trashcan of yours will be thrilled to know that Jet and Ana picked up groceries yesterday and I think there's still some stuff left."

"Oh, you mean The Cleavers?"

Faye tossed her towel at him. "Don't make fun. I like her," she said.

"Come lie down for a minute," Spike said, reaching his hand out for hers when he saw she was about to stand. She crossed her arms and shook her head, smiling.

"You can sleep a little longer, but then you should come get something to eat. We have alot to talk about before we leave."

He watched her disappear through the door and almost couldn't wait to follow her, maybe to the ends of the universe.

_I'm__ the __only__one__ who __can__ keep __you__ alive._

_And __I'm__ the __only__one__ that __can__kill__you__._

She was his life and life's end in equal measure.

-

Faye padded to the kitchen area and grabbed a coffee mug from a shelf above the hot plate. She poked her head into the fridge, settling in for a long, admiring look. It had been a while since she'd gone into the refrigerator and was faced with that long-evasive thing called "choice".

She reached for a plastic-wrapped chicken sandwich that was nearly the same size as her head.

"Where were you?"

She stood bolt upright, inadvertently striking the top of her head against the doorway of the fridge. Wincing, she turned finding herself face to face with Jet. She was mildly amused to see that he was wearing a handsome pair of dark trousers and a button-up shirt. Amused enough that she didn't immediately notice how angry he was.

"Running late for a lunch meeting with the CEO?" she asked, turning back towards the refrigerator.

"Where were you?"

"What are you talking about?"

Jet dropped a heavy hand on her shoulder and leaned in, lowering his voice. "You lied to him and if you want your secret to stay safe you'll answer the question before I make the mistake of assuming I'm just not talking loud enough for you to hear me."

Faye closed the refrigerator door, glancing around him to see if anyone was there. Not anyone. Spike. Her shoulders dropped and she was suddenly too ashamed to look at Jet. "Lemme just pour some coffee and we'll talk."

"Fair enough. I'll be in the hangar."

The coffee burned her tongue on its way down and felt like it was eroding the lining of her stomach. It finally struck her how tired she was. She wondered how imminent Jet's explosion was. Did she have time to dress before meeting him in the hangar? She didn't take the chance.

"So where were you?" he asked again, this time more casually. As she approached he held out a cigarette for her but she shook her head, wrapping one arm around herself. If Jet could hear the violent chattering of her teeth he ignored it.

"I went to my sister's apartment."

"Was Ezekiel there?"

Faye took another sip of her coffee. "Of course he was there. If you didn't know that your panties wouldn't be in such a twist right now." She silently berated herself for snapping the words. Anger on her part would only make him suspicious.

_But for fuck's sake_ – she couldn't pinpoint the exact second that her whereabouts became an issue to Spike and Jet. When did they start to care? She remembered having to practically beg for someone to come for her when Vicious was holding her for collateral. And afterwards Spike made it more than clear that he'd only gone to settle a score with his former business associate.

"Although being stuck alone in a room with you jabbering on about nonsense for a few hours probably inflicted some measure of punishment," he had said.

How did it get to the point where she couldn't even be in the bathtub for more than a half hour without Spike or Jet knocking on the door and asking if she was okay?

Jet absently scraped at the metal plate below his right eye.

_Now he's going to scratch his head,_ Faye thought.

Jet scratched his head. "Okay, here's the thing. Spike barely gets any sleep because he's afraid he's going to wake up and you're going to be gone. As luck would have it, this morning when I got out of bed I had a look around and every appliance, computer, and dish on the ship all seemed to be intact so I think it goes without saying that Spike has no idea you left the ship last night."

"I got back before he woke up. It was a fluke. I only lied because the opportunity happened to present itself."

"How thoughtful," he drawled sarcastically.

Faye couldn't bear the way he was looking at her right now. She closed her eyes and sighed, "I just... It's that..."

Jet placed the cigarette that had been waiting between his thumb and forefinger between his lips. It was noticeably bent from the nervous pressure he'd been putting on it. Lighting the cigarette he inhaled slow and deep, and his accusing eyes softened.

"Am I out of line here?" Jet asked.

_Yes._

"Telling Spike would only hurt him," she said. She tucked her hands deep into the pockets of her bathrobe. She could see her white breath leaving her, hanging heavily in the air.

Jet took another long drag from his cigarette then tapped it against his cybernetic arm, shaking the ashes loose. "I know your sister just died and you're in mourning, but that's exactly when and why you should be keeping away from someone like Ezekiel."

"Someone like Ezekiel?"

"You know what I mean. Someone from your past. You're vulnerable right now. You might think that slipping into something comfortable will take some of that pain away but it doesn't work that way. You'll just end up confusing yourself."

"Whatever it is you're thinking I did –"

"I'm not thinking anything. I just wanted to give you some advice, okay? From someone who might know a few more things than you." Jet finished up his cigarette.

"If Spike wasn't your friend, if it was just the two of us again, would you still care what I'd been up to last night?" Faye couldn't help asking. He turned to face her, approaching her once again. Hesitantly he reached out and tugged the collar of her bathrobe up around her neck like a father bundling up his child before sending her off to school. He actually followed it up with a pat on the head, eyes lingering softly on hers for a moment.

"Get inside before you freeze to death."

Well, there was her answer.

Without another word, Jet started walking back towards the entrance of the hangar. Faye couldn't help but still feel the need to defend herself. Or maybe not to defend herself but to maintain at least an ounce of Jet's respect.

"Nothing happened," she called out unnecessarily.

_Nothing happened._

A second ago Faye was afraid she'd chatter her teeth clear out of her skull, but now she was glad for the cold air. Her ears were burning. She felt hot and dizzy. She was both relieved and ashamed that neither Spike nor Jet had noticed her knuckles wrapped up in several layers of white gauze.

Something happened.

-

Quoted lyrics from White Lies' _Death_. Don't sue, please.


	102. Cut The Demons Out Of My Head

So,

This chapter ended up going in so many different directions over the course of my writing it that I finally got nauseous and had to get off the ride. So I've decided that if I keep dicking around with it I'm going to either really screw it up, or just throw my hands up in the air, shout "Fuck it!" and abandon the whole damn thing. I don't really want to do either of those things, though, so I hope the chapter isn't too awful.

My depression gets the better of me this time of year, so any constructive criticism, words of encouragement, or love is very welcome.

Love,

ssg.x.

-

**Have you seen my ghost staring at the ground?  
Have you seen my ghost sick of those goddamn clouds?**

-

Something happened.

Despite Ezekiel's arms around her they still struck Beatrice's vanity with great force. Faye had closed her hand over his to protect it from further injury and cried out, feeling the crunching of her fingers between her abdomen, his knuckles, and the counter. She felt him pulling back with his hips, digging his heels into the carpet in an attempt to keep his weight from crushing her.

It all happened in seconds but for Faye it seemed to go on for much longer. She was in the middle of the thought that she may have broken her hand when her eyes met with Ezekiel's in the mirror.

She hadn't thought of her hand since.

_There. _

She was sure that her lips had moved but not if she'd spoken it out loud.

_Right there._

-

She'd called him minutes before boarding the ill-fated flight. He told her that he would tag along with her family so that he could be there when she landed. Ezekiel would hold Faye's hand while she told her parents about her desire to take a year off from school to travel with Ezekiel to the states. And he would let her hide behind him when they freaked out at the news.

_I'll wait right here_, he'd said.

_Right there,_ she laughed. Suddenly the trip she was about to take didn't seem as scary.

_Yeah, right here. I won't budge an inch until it's to see you._

-

**Are you some kind of medicine man?  
Cut the demons out of my head  
You can't kill something that's already dead  
Just leave my soul alone  
I don't need no surgery  
Take those knives away from me  
Just wanna die in my own body  
A ghost just needs a home**

-

Ezekiel's hair is still damp from the rain but it slowly begins to spring back into dark curls hanging heavily in his eyes. When his chin drops it makes it almost impossible for Faye to read his expression.

In her mind's eye and the distressed muscle that is her heart, the instant their eyes locked in the mirror Faye became witness to Ezekiel's metamorphosis from memory to brick and mortar. Moments ago he had no real scent, blood or bones and now he's nothing but. She suddenly becomes acutely aware of his legs reinforcing the strength of her own, and his breath in her ear.

He straightens his legs behind her and she lets slip a short, sharp breath.

"Spike," she blurts out, startling them both.

To her relief Ezekiel gently removes his damaged hand from hers, taking a few steps back, releasing her back to her senses. She turns to face him, clearing her throat. Ezekiel leans over, picking Faye's school book up off the floor. He holds it close to his chest looking as though he's still afraid she might try to tear it to pieces again.

"Spike said you know who's behind all this," she says.

Ezekiel blinks and tips his head to one side. "I never said I knew anything for certain."

"Well, what do you know for _un_certain, then?"

"Have you gotten all your memories back?" he asks in return.

"Most."

"The night we saw each other at the club, after we'd broken up... Do you remember that?"

Faye remembers. "You hit someone and the police took you away."

Ezekiel looks at her carefully. "Do you remember _why_?"

The memory of the boy she'd danced with that night returns to Faye with surprisingly little effort. She remembers the boy trying to pin her arms to her sides, his hands like vices around her wrists. He forces his tongue into her mouth and drills a fist down the front of her jeans.

Faye swallows hard. "Yes," she replies hoarsely.

"His hands were all over you...touching, grabbing," Ezekiel's knuckles are white as his fingers tighten around the school book. "I started to feel sick but I couldn't look away and I saw you try to push him off you and... I lost it. I climbed down from the stage and he never saw it coming. I hit him -- I couldn't help it. I didn't even realize I still had the guitar in my hands until... And then it was too late."

Despite the memory her voice remains surprisingly steady. "He was alright, though. It was on the news. I remember that. I remember watching the news and hearing about his needing stitches. Why are we talking about this?"

"Because he wasn't alright. A few months later he had a stroke. I think it was my fault. I think I killed him. And if I didn't then someone must think I did," Ezekiel says. "It's the only thing that makes any real sense. They got your father. They'll get me, too. That's why I need you to get away from here. If they can get a two-for-one deal, they'll take it. They blame me for what happened to that kid, but they blame you, too." His voice grows softer and more earnest. "It was a mean and misguided trick to play on you, hurting you to get you to leave... I could dig out my tongue with a spoon for saying those awful things to you. I'm sorry," he whispers sorrowfully. "I'm so sorry."

Faye feels her heart drop into her stomach like a stone into a well. Her head suddenly feels too heavy to carry.

_They got your father. _

"My father killed himself," she says numbly.

"The accusations of embezzlement coming out of nowhere, the media getting involved -- that was all the Gate Corporation. Your accident was one of the supposed motives for the embezzlement; that your family needed the money to pay for the cryogenic procedure and your subsequent upkeep. Your father lost everything. And he'd already lost you." Ezekiel sighs deeply, "He blamed himself, you know, because he bought you the ticket. You'd think he caused the whole gate incident himself the way he spoke about it. He killed himself, but I think the Corporation drove him to it. Your father wasn't a criminal."

"Who was this kid? Why did they want my father?"

He speaks slowly, sympathetic to her needing to absorb everything he's just told her.

"He was the youngest son of the Gate Corporation's head executive at the time. Your father is the one who got the charges against me lifted. It's been more than fifty years and I'm still not sure what he said or did to make it all disappear, but I was released two days later and never heard another word about it. It had to be your father, though. That I know for sure. My parents left me in there but your father... he was a good man."

Faye nods. She knew that. When her memories first began to surface she remembered him before anyone else, standing by the window of his study, silhouetted by the sunlight.

Ezekiel gently places Faye's school book on Bea's vanity, staring at it fuzzily. "He was the one who told me you were at the park that evening. He wanted you to have everything you ever wished for, anything you ever wanted."

"And I wanted you," she says brokenly.

Mending the tear in the web of the memories of her father, lamenting his death with someone who knew him -- it all makes it damn near impossible for her to deny the grief over losing her family a second time any longer.

The second she begins to crumble, Ezekiel closes the distance between them, wrapping her up in his arms and squeezing her body hard. She feels the beginnings of tremors running the course of her spine. She grips Ezekiel around his waist with both hands, the gravity of her misery pulling her to the floor, dragging him down with her. Ezekiel doesn't fight it. He holds her head to his chest and cradles the rest of her in his lap. Faye's cries cut up her insides, sear her lungs. She cries until her eyes are wrung raw.

In her dream, her mother had told Faye that fighting fate bore grave consequences. _When you go against fate, the results are disastrous_, she'd said.

"Is this all my fault?" she sniffles.

"No, of course it isn't. For fuck's sake, I hit the kid in the head with a guitar."

Spike always joked that she was inadvertently going to get him killed one of these days and she'd always laughed it off. _But Christ, he's right. Spike and Jet could be next._ All she had wanted to do that night at the club was punish Ezekiel for not loving her enough to be able weather his own insecurities. Her father, Roscoe, Bea, and even Ezekiel in a way. All of their lives lost, all of their blood on her hands.

_They got your father. They'll get me, too. _

She burrows deeper into his arms and he rests his chin against the top of her head.

"I only danced with him to upset you," she says, lamely.

"Mission accomplished," he says, smiling sadly.

After a moment of silence she carefully takes his hand from him. She turns it over, staring thoughtfully at the bandage wrapped over his knuckles.

"Don't do it again," she murmurs.

Ezekiel looks puzzled. "Hit someone with a guitar?"

"No. Well, yes. But I mean hurt yourself. Don't do it again. Please."

"Okay," he says.

Ezekiel's crumpled letter is close enough now that she can reach out and grab it. She pulls the corners out flat and presses it to his heart, gingerly smoothing out as many of its creases as she can. He doesn't say a word. He only watches curiously.

"_You'd hate the person I am now. Maybe it's better that you won't remember who I was because you could never love the person I've become."_

She doesn't tell Ezekiel that her motive for destroying the letter wasn't solely to satiate her desire to hurt him. She wanted to destroy it because its message couldn't be further from the truth.

"I don't hate you," she says.

He shakes his head, tears forming in his dark eyes. "Then you're crazy."

Faye chuckles softly. "So I've been told."

-

Lyrics quoted are from Wintersleep's _Weighty Ghost_. Please don't sue.


	103. A Sea of Blood, An Ocean of Sweat

So,

By January it would have been a year since I updated. I wanted to be sure I posted something up before that happened. A couple of people have asked if I'd given up on finishing this. Not yet. I'm not sure how often I've said it, but it means so much to me that after almost nine years, there are people out there who still maintain an interest in this story. I have no plans on abandoning this monster yet. :S

About this chapter -- there's quite a bit of time-jumping. I don't normally do plot summaries, but since it's been forever since I've updated, I thought I'd bring you up to speed. This chapter includes two flashbacks interspersed with the present (the present being the afternoon following the eve of Beatrice's death). If the order of events gets too confusing, please let me know. I'm a little rusty at this.

If you're curious about any of the songs I've quoted, you can find them all via Youtube. :)

I love you.

ssg.x.

-

**See, I've come back from almost death,  
And I've got to avenge everyone that washed up here  
In a sea of blood,  
In an ocean of sweat,  
Maybe tears.**

**I can't forgive and I won't forget**

-

"_Maybe you and Spike are used to the violence, collecting the blood money, and the dark alley sex...the lifestyle suits this person you've become. But the transformation into gun-toting maniac hasn't been a smooth one for me, and I think I need to quit while I've still got a soul."_

Faye collapsed on Ezekiel's cot. Although it was only for a few minutes, she felt like the cries grating against her insides had done enough damage that she was sure she'd be feeling it for days. Not to mention the damage he'd just done to her heart.

_Monsters belong with monsters..._

In a matter of ten minutes, Ezekiel had managed to annihilate a beloved part of her past, taint an important part of her future, and level her self-esteem.

She lay on the bed, bled dry and emotionally blistered, feeling old and tired. She felt her eyes rolling back into her head, her mind suddenly foggy with exhaustion. She closed her eyes and leaned into the soft, cool hand that stroked her cheek.

At first she thought he'd returned. _Maybe I'm not that wretched after all._

"He loves you. You know that, right?"

_I don't know anything. I don't think I ever did. _But the words wouldn't come out. She had no voice left. She only moaned softly.

"You're the only thing keeping him alive right now. You can see that, can't you? Behind all those horrible things he's said?"

_Bea._

_We woke her up. Of course we woke her up. _But when, exactly? How much had she heard? Faye's head was throbbing, like a pressure within was slowly building to the point where any moment her eyeballs were going to shoot out of their sockets and across the room.

The only words Faye could manage were, "I think I might throw up."

Bea clucked sympathetically, continuing to stroke her sister's hair.

Faye knew she shouldn't care. What does it matter if Ezekiel hates her now? She was in an accident. People have accidents all the time. It's not her fault he gave up his life to follow her all this way. She didn't ask for his protection. People have accidents and die, and their families and friends mourn for a time. But then they move on with their lives_. _

_I refuse to take responsibility for his bad life-decisions. I refuse to feel at fault for not meeting his stupid expectations._

"He barely eats, doesn't sleep, and he's an absolute misery to be around. And it's all because he loves you. I'm sorry for..."

"Sorry...?"

"I thought I'd managed to bring him to his senses. I was the one who lured Spike out of the apartment so you'd be alone when Ezekiel walked in on you. He wanted to leave things as they were. To just shadow you -- make sure you were alright."

"He said something like that, and at the time I thought it was such an act of selflessness. But I'm a fast learner. I _was_ going to be a teacher, after all," she said softly, but still sarcastically. Bea's hand was cool against her cheek. Faye hiccupped. The threat of throwing up still loomed large.

"He said he wanted you to be happy. That's what he said. That he didn't want to disturb your new life and make a mess of things. But those ugly things he said to you..." the cot's springs creaked as Bea lowered herself beside Faye, "The heartless one, the soulless monster, the whore – "

Bea really had heard everything.

"I can't listen anymore," Faye said. She pushed herself up from the mattress. She wiped her arm across her eyes and nose, pushed her hair out of her eyes. Bea reached for her hand but Faye pulled it back against herself. Beatrice looked hurt, but continued despite it.

"He was talking about himself," Bea said. "He thinks you deserve more."

Whatever reaction Bea was looking for, Faye wasn't obliging. She just couldn't listen anymore.

"I don't care. And I _do_ deserve more," she said sharply.

"Faye –"

"If after all these years he's still fucking around in Teenage Wasteland I don't give a shit," she spat. "I could never catch up to that fucking inferiority complex of his. They can go on living miserably ever after together. I don't care."

"Faye!" Bea exclaimed, looking incredulous. "After all he's done –"

"_He broke my heart_," Faye shouted. "He left me just this way so many years ago; crying out to him, begging him to love me enough to stay. Only this time around he seems to have decided that he's going to play dirty." She stood and started to tear at the hooded sweatshirt he'd given her earlier to keep warm. "He can go to hell, is what he can do. He can just go to hell."

Bea's eyes narrowed. She looked positively livid. "You won't speak that way about him again."

_Fuck you,_ Faye thought. She couldn't be sure, but Bea might have been too young at the time to remember the state Ezekiel's first bout with self-deprecation had left her in. So, giving Bea the benefit of the doubt, Faye didn't say the words out loud. _Fuck you, Bea._

"You're a spoiled brat, you know that?" Bea muttered.

Faye couldn't help but be marginally amused by the expression on her sister's face just then. Her chin jutted out defiantly just like it used to when she and Faye were fighting over toys, the phone, or what to watch on television. _You're a spoiled brat. You always have to get your way. When Dad comes home I'm telling. _Then Bea would pinch herself to leave a bruise to show their father before dinner. Faye didn't mind much, so long as her bratty little sister ended up having some measure of pain inflicted on her – self-applied or otherwise. Funnily enough, Faye's punishment for the alleged bullying always centred on temporary loss of contact with Ezekiel. _No phone. No internet. No park._

And now Beatrice seemed to have made it her life's mission to ensure that she and Ezekiel were never parted again.

"What? How the hell am_ I_ a spoiled brat?"

"Ezekiel's had to content himself with staying in the shadows and watching you this entire time, watching you fall in love with someone else, and you're standing here bitching about him not being down on his knees begging you to stay with him. And what if he did – where's the payout? What could he possibly gain from that? Does Ezekiel even have a chance in hell?"

Faye turned away from Bea, muttering, "He got married twice. Not having watched it doesn't make it hurt any less." She stood with her back to Bea, her arms limp at her sides, the hooded sweatshirt halfway unzipped and hanging around her elbows. She didn't think she had the strength to shuck the rest of it from her body. The warm, worn fabric held his scent. She was sick from it.

Beatrice's features softened. She slowly walked back to her chair, pushing the quilt aside to settle back into it. Faye approached her quietly, pulling the sleeves of Ezekiel's hoody back over her shoulders. She took the quilt from Bea and tucked her little sister in with it. Beatrice sighed, reaching her hand out and petting Faye's.

"I'm begging you to stop all this now, Bea. Please," Faye said softly, for a number of reasons -- one of them being that, whether it was intentional or not, she didn't like Beatrice inferring that Spike wasn't capable of loving her as much as Ezekiel did. Another reason was that Faye felt a shiver move through her when Beatrice had said those words..._Does Ezekiel even have a chance in hell?_

Beatrice frowned, looking ashamed. "I'm sorry. I'm awful, aren't I? I can't make you love him the same way you did back then, and I can't tell you that he'd be better for you than Spike because I don't know him. For that matter, I don't really know you anymore. But I won't let you leave here doubting Ezekiel's feelings for you. The only thing that's kept him going all this time was his knowing that you were out there somewhere, not dead, but sleeping. I don't know. He's crazy, and jealous, and stubborn, and stupid. Maybe it's all just about his wanting to die knowing you're safe. Seeing you ride off into the sunset then turning a blind eye and deaf ear to anything that might happen after that. If he doesn't know what happens after the credits roll, you'll live forever."

Faye felt about as old as Beatrice looked just then. Older, actually.

_I'm her big sister, after all._

"I hate him so much right now. He just..." Faye squeezed her eyes shut. She clenched her fists, frustrated for not being able to find the words she needed to elaborate.

He was the first boy she'd ever loved, and for the longest while he'd been the only boy who'd ever loved her back. They'd been no less than the other's world once. And fighting the natural order of things had turned it all into the twisted and diseased mess they found themselves in now. It was like those two teenagers had come back as zombies when they were supposed to have stayed dead.

**-**

**Remember when I was  
Sweet and unexplainable  
Nothing like this person  
Unlovable  
I just want back in your head**

-

"Are you enjoying that?"

"Hm?"

"The book. Is it any good?"

Spike holds the book aside and looks down at Faye whose head rests in his lap. Her arm is extended towards the coffee table where Ed is sitting, quietly painting the fingernails emerging from Faye's bandaged left hand. She'd apparently tripped and crashed into her dresser last night while stumbling in the dark looking for another blanket.

"Yeah, I think so."

"What's it called?"

"_The End of the Affair_," Spike mumbles, knowing what's coming next.

"Sounds dirty," Faye replies. He sighs like he's annoyed, but he's actually pleased that he can still stay two steps ahead of her when it comes to some stuff.

"It isn't."

"Who wrote it? Luella Von Dusk? Deluna Diablo?"

"Graham Greene."

"_Gangrene?_ She might want to consider a new pen name," Faye drawls lazily.

He knows she's just playing dumb. Going through her cookie tin he'd found several report cards all praising her as some sort of genius. For all he knew, she'd already read the book. Hell, by the looks of those report cards, she could have written a book about reading the book. They_ could_ be having an intelligent conversation right now.

"You know, in all the time we've been on this ship together I don't think I've ever seen you read anything other than trashy fashion rags," he says, deciding to play along. Spike figures that they've got all the time in the world to catch up on intelligent conversation. Jet will be back soon and if things have gone well, he'll have sold the Redtail to a bounty hunter he'd connected with through a cop friend of his for a good sum of cash to get their lives started far away from here.

"Shut up. It's not just all pictures. There are _articles_, you know."

"Oh, yeah. _Twelve ways to please your man. _How these magazine people have managed to turn the simple equation of 'feed him + fuck him' into a complex twelve-step process is definitely a math problem Einstein could have really sunk his teeth into." Faye scowls at him. It only encourages Spike to continue, "And let's not forget that those magazines are probably completely to blame for that banana-yellow shrink wrap you used to wear all the time."

"Yeah, alright. Like I never caught you looking at me in it," Faye says haughtily.

"Well, Jesus, where the hell else was I supposed to look with you walking around here dressed like a traffic cone?"

She turns her attention back to Ed and her fingernails, looking disappointed.

_Oh, Lord._

He'd always refused to indulge Faye's vanity in the past. How could she not know she was beautiful? In the past, Spike and Jet had used Faye as bait for so many of their traps because she was positively mesmerizing. And after everything that's happened between them up until now, what should it even matter if Spike says it aloud?

Faye lowers her chin, but not before puffing her bottom lip out into a pout riding the thin line between childish and cartoonish. Spike rolls his eyes, realizing what a sucker for even her smallest pleasures he's become. How long does he have before she starts expecting poetry?

"Roses are red, violets are blue..." Ed sings quietly, like she's read his mind. She blows gently at Faye's wet fingernails. Each one is a different colour, a labour of love.

"I looked at you almost every chance I could," he says, deciding it sounds much better than, _"Those yellow hotpants really lent themselves to those nice gams of yours_", which is what he was going to say before giving it more thought. But when he says what he thinks is simply what she wants to hear, the words come easily, honestly, and his chest hurts. He catches her smiling, looking satisfied before letting him get back to his book. Like he's supposed to be able to focus now.

"I love you," she says quietly.

Thank Christ for that.

-

Jet wondered what his funeral would be like. He had no living relatives, many acquaintances, but few friends.

Would he even have a funeral? Would it bother him either way?

Ana squeezed the hand he rested in his lap. She laced her arm through his. Jet glanced down at the program he held in his cybernetic hand.

"I'd almost forgotten how attractive he was," Ana whispered.

Jet straightened up against the back of his seat, his height easily allowing him to see over the heads of the hundreds of other people packed into the room like sardines. It was a miracle he and Ana had been able to get a seat. Everyone was dressed to the nines for this thing. Sleek black suits, designer gowns, glittering jewels around necks, wrists and fingers. You'd think this was a movie premiere if it wasn't for the fact that the star of the film had been rolled down the red carpet in a box.

Okay, that wasn't entirely true. The box was just for show. Roscoe Calhoun had been buried by his family in a private ceremony a week and a half ago to keep the press from interfering with their mourning. Still, the memorial shouldn't have been the fashion fiasco it was. The woman in front of him was wearing a black Sunday hat with a heaving side of chiffon, its brim wide enough that it came close to brushing Jet's face just about every time she tilted her head to blow her nose.

"Would you recognize any relatives of his if you saw them?"

Ana shakes her head. "No. I can't even guess by family resemblance. He surgically changed his appearance so often. If any immediate family is here today, I'm sure he or she will make some sort of speech or something."

Ana and Jet both hoped a relative was present for much different reasons. Jet was hoping he could somehow figure out a way to get his hands on the discs Roscoe had mentioned to Faye just before he was killed, or at least find out if anyone in his family had any idea about his involvement in this mess.

Ana was hoping that a relative would appear to ring-master the event, maybe bring some fucking perspective and focus to this freak circus of a memorial.

-

**And I will hold on hope,  
And I won't let you choke,  
On the noose around your neck,  
And I'll find strength in pain,  
And I will change my ways,  
I'll know my name as it's called again.**

-

The streets are quiet. Even most of the night crawlers and clubbers have sought out shelter from the rain. It seems to go on forever. Ezekiel insists Faye get in a cab, fumbling awkwardly with the box of Spector-related memorabilia in his arms. They argue about it for a lengthy enough period of time that the driver eventually curses at them, swerving noisily back into his lane and disappearing between sheets of rain and darkness.

Plenty of other fares out there on a night like tonight practically climbing over each other for a ride home.

"It's raining, for Chrissakes." Ezekiel places the wet, crumbling box down between them and rubs his temples. He's tired and frustrated and as far as arguments go, it seems to be all he has left.

The mood is much different than it was back in Bea's apartment. They're both tense, and their combined silence is a strained one.

Faye remembers her nightmare, the one where she relives the night before the accident. She goes through all the motions and says all the lines, all the while knowing the chances of her ever seeing Ezekiel again are slim if nil. She can't stop it from happening, like she's at the wheel of a car headed for a crash with her arms tied behind her back. This time there's a second person in the car, just as helpless to stop the inevitable as she is.

The argument is a stupid one, and it should have ended about fifteen minutes ago, but it only serves to keep their goodbye temporarily at bay. Faye and Spike will leave, and Ezekiel will stay behind. Faye isn't an idiot. She knows that after she and Spike are gone, Ezekiel will promptly offer up his head on a platter to the Corporation, hoping they'll be satisfied with just the one. He hasn't said it aloud yet, but she guesses it, continuing to hold firmly to the belief that she still knows him well. Lord knows it's been put to the test over the past twenty-four hours.

_He's only thirty years old, _she thinks._ He could leave Mars; find somewhere new and safe to settle down. Do all the things he should have done the first time we said goodbye. He could acclimatize himself to this new universe, meet someone...maybe get married...have kids...._

Faye suddenly feels sick.

"You need to get out of this rain," he says. He reaches out, maybe to touch her chin or cheek, but he doesn't give her the chance to find out for sure. His hand drifts quickly back to his side and he turns away from her, leaning away from the curb to peer down the street, looking for another cab.

"I..."

Ezekiel doesn't turn to look at her, but she still gets the sense that he's waiting breathlessly for her next words. Now if only she knew what to say. She wants to tell him that she wants him to be happy, living a life free from the ghosts that have been hanging around his neck like a yoke for more than fifty years. She wants to tell him the bit about the wife and the kids, but there it is again – an acute discomfort in the pit of her stomach, a tremulous ache in her chest. She presses on.

"I want you to be happy," she says.

Ezekiel doesn't move.

"I'll be happy when you're safe." He says the words woodenly, like he's reading them off a cue card. "You're getting into the next cab I manage to wave over. You're pale as a ghost, and standing out here isn't doing much good for me either." Distant, when less than an hour ago he'd been holding her tightly enough she wondered if he'd ever let go.

And now not only is he letting her go, he's practically dragging her out into the street and throwing her at anything that even remotely _looks_ like a cab.

"No, I mean..." Faye stammers. _Jesus, what's wrong with me? Say it. He needs closure. I need closure. It's common courtesy, isn't it, that when you break up with someone you tell them you're just not right for each other, but that there's someone else out there who will make them very happy?_

Ezekiel steps out of the street and backs up under the apartment complex's awning where Faye is standing. He tries to temper his shivering by wrapping his arms around himself. In turn, Faye tries to temper the urge to wrap her arms around him, beneath his jacket, the way she had during that last walk home together after his band's set. He'd looked as though he'd just come out of a sauna.

"_How come you didn't want to go home and change? I could have gotten a ride home with someone_," she'd said.

"_I know you could've gotten a ride home with someone. That was the problem. Too many people there always want to give you a ride home."_

"No, I mean..."

"I know what you mean," he says firmly. "But I won't lie to you. I'll be happy when you're gone."

"And then?" she asks.

"And then I don't know."

"What will you do?"

"I don't know," he snaps. She winces, momentarily taken aback. He shakes his head, dropping his chin to his chest. "And don't try to tell me that I'm young and that there's still time for me to make a life for myself. I tried that once already, remember?"

Faye clenches her fists so tightly her fingernails cut into the palms of her hands. She looks down at her shoes, soaked through, then across to Ezekiel's boots. Her eyes explore the length of him, along the long denim-clad legs, across the drab, borrowed military parka he's wearing. His eyes are muddy and lined with red and his lips are the colour of ash.

"You should have a hot shower or bath, and some tea or something." Faye nudges the cardboard box on the ground between them with the toe of her sneaker. "After I leave, I mean."

"What's with you women and tea? Your sister was always trying to get me to drink tea," he mumbles.

_It's something you say to someone sick or in pain when you can't think of anything else, _Faye thinks.

She can see his hand moving beneath his jacket, clutching his chest. She notices the subtle pull of his mouth, a twitch in his jaw. His left arm seems to dangle at his side.

"Is your chest hurting you?"

"I'm alright. It happens sometimes."

"You say that about as often as it happens --" Faye says gently, "-- which seems to be less like 'sometimes', and more like 'frequently'." She tries futilely to hide her worry behind a coy smile. She stares down at her fingers as they toy with the hem of his jacket.

Ezekiel is quiet and for a moment Faye wonders if Ezekiel is just going to outright ignore her until she gets fed up and walks away. But he glances over in her general direction and his shoulders give a little shrug, "I suppose. I'm going to get this cab. One sec."

Ezekiel takes her shoulders into his hands to move her aside but she bolts herself firmly to the spot. When he tries to get past her, she throws her arms around him. She squeezes her eyes shut, bracing herself for another frustrated outburst.

"Faye! For Chrissakes," Ezekiel hisses. A trio of drunken university students further down the street pile noisily into what should have been Faye's ride home. He glares down at Faye, but his anger quickly seems to fizzle when her eyes lock on his, wide with incipient desperation.

"Please...please come with us," she pleads.

He pulls her to him, strokes her hair and sighs.

"Christ," he whispers. "What are you doing to me?"

Faye buries her face in the front of his jacket. Her voice is muffled, weak, but earnest. "If it's about putting me in danger, I've been in danger. I've been shot at and beaten up so many times, and I've always come out of it in one piece. Running is nothing new for me. And I can protect you."

Ezekiel chuckles dismissively, prompting Faye to squeeze him harder. "I _can. _The woman you've been watching these past few months isn't who I usually am. I'm nowhere near the sort of martial artist Spike is, but I know enough that I can swing a kick that can knock the wind out of a guy. And I'm no marksman, but I can use a gun. And before you say anything, I wasn't myself the day I accidentally shot Spike. I'd just watched Roscoe get killed and found out that you might be alive," she explains earnestly. She whispers into his chest, "Let me protect you. Let me take care of you. Spike's not a monster – he wouldn't leave you here to die. I can't leave you here to die."

Ezekiel shakes his head. "I don't like seeing you with Spike, but I'm trying to take what little comfort I can in knowing that at least he loves you and that you're capable of taking care of each other. If I went along, you and Spike would end up babysitting me. My heart only works when it wants to, and I'm running out of arms to teach myself to shoot with," he says. He tries to smile, but the corners of his mouth refuse to oblige. "It's just no use," he says hopelessly.

"I want you to be happy," she gushes breathlessly. "I'm so selfish. I want you to be happy, but not without me. But I want you to be happy. I love Spike. I really, really do. It makes no sense." She feels Ezekiel's weight shift to his heels as he leans back to look at her. He watches her silently; the tears beginning to bead her lashes, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip.

"You and Spike will have each other to protect," he says kindly. Her stomach is in knots and she feels weak in the knees. She can hear it in his voice -- the faintest hint of bitterness flush alongside his words. Shamefully, Faye finds it comforting.

Not comforting.

Arousing.

His jealousy...

...she's aroused by it.

_Oh no._

This is how it all started. Dancing with that dark-haired boy -- dancing for Ezekiel. His beautiful, brown eyes always on her, burning with electric, exquisite hurt. _Doesn't he love me_, she'd thought that night. _Doesn't he care?_

Hasn't she learned anything?

Faye swallows hard, feeling feverish.

"Spike is not a substitute for you," she says. "Give us all a little more credit than that, for God's sake. It's pretty safe to say there isn't another man in this universe like Spike Spiegel. And you," she adds, softly. "You're..."

Without a word, Ezekiel impulsively takes Faye's elbow into a firm grip and pushes her against the wall of the apartment building's entranceway. Startled, her heart begins pounding in her ears. Caught between Ezekiel and the cold brick, the first thought that springs to mind before all others is that he's protecting her from some sort of imminent attack. His eyes are closed, his breathing disjointed. He presses one hand over her mouth, then his lips to his hand, kissing Faye without kissing her. Regardless, she feels the sting of his lips, even through the flesh and bone of his long fingers.

He touches his forehead to hers and murmurs, "It's like I'm finally home and I've lost the key."

Faye raises her eyes to meet his. His hand is still over her mouth and she finds she's glad for it because she doesn't know how to respond. This close to Ezekiel, she can see the dark circles beneath his eyes, the split in his lip and its tortured pout.

"You put so much stock into what comes out of my mouth, but I've never been good with words. You can't see how much I..." a tremor moves through him. She feels its wings flutter against her stomach. "I want to...every time your body moves -- your eyes and your mouth, your arms, your hips..." he says throatily. He turns his head and his voice is thick in her ear, "Your sighs, your screams, your whispers, your moans..."

Faye is breathless. Her eyes are drawn back to his, simmering in a delicate agony. The tears in her eyes swell and tumble down her cheeks, over his fingers. She reaches up and gently pulls at them, one by one, until the only thing keeping his lips from hers is their mutually fragile resistance.

-

**Lyrics quoted from The Dears' _Disclaimer_, Tegan and Sara's _Back in Your Head_, and Mumford & Sons _The Cave_. Please don't sue.**


	104. The Birds Sing Fur Elise

My Dear,

This chapter was a tough because I was hoping to get something out that moved the plot forward while also refreshing memories of certain details in past chapters that may have been forgotten. I found it hard to do without being repetitive. I'm not at all confident I pulled it off, but that's something I always welcome you to let me know. At any rate...

I do hope that I've accomplished something besides just irritating or confusing you. :S

I love you.

ssg.x.

-

_Let me inside you  
Into your room  
I've heard it's lined  
With the things you don't show_

-

Jet and Ana had managed to pull together a proper meal last night. Pan-fried pork dumplings, rice, and beef stir-fry with bell peppers – this time with real beef. There was also cold beer in glasses Ana had chilled in the freezer. Jet wasn't much of a beer drinker, but it was something he could definitely learn to enjoy.

They'd put a couple of plates together for the kiddies and set them aside, but Ed was the only other shipmate to join them last night. Spike and Faye had pretty much passed out as soon as they finally decided to leave Ana's car and return to the ship. It was nice to have Ed there, though. Ana was going to need to learn the language eventually if she was planning on sticking around.

There were still lingering doubts Jet just couldn't shake.

"He was a talented actor, a kind-hearted and gentle soul, a wonderful friend..."

Jet looked over at Ana while gently stroking her hand to keep her from throwing her head back and sighing with mock dramatics every time film actress Judy Gillery finished a sentence.

"I can't help it," Ana whispered sharply. "Roscoe couldn't stand her. She was always picking him apart on set."

She had been the actress playing "May Ballantyne" alongside Roscoe and was, in Jet's opinion, quite easy on the eyes. Tall and curvy, her hips swayed back and forth gently behind the podium as she leaned forward into the microphone, looking less like she was delivering a eulogy and more like she was singing "Happy Birthday" to the president. Her hair was platinum, short and pixie-like, and she had wide eyes that streamed tears milky with lavender eye shadow. Ana would tell you they were of the crocodile variety, and if that was indeed the case, then Judy Gillery was doing one hell of an acting job.

And so was he.

-

Jet had decided not to tell Faye about Roscoe's memorial because he couldn't be positive she wouldn't find some way to be there. There was still the matter of the bounty on her head, the suspicion that she was the one who'd killed Roscoe and the redhead. He'd considered telling her simply because he was sick of everyone sneaking around and keeping secrets, and thought he should lead by example. But after passing by Faye's room and seeing that bloodied dress still hanging on the wall he found himself using the same excuse for keeping the details of the memorial to himself that Spike had used countless times. _It's for her own good._

Add to that the fact that he had accused her of messing around with Ezekiel only an hour before sneaking off with Ana and Jet couldn't have felt lower.

Jet learned about Roscoe's public memorial purely by accident via some shitty entertainment gossip show Ana had channel-surfed across after a late dinner. Ana scrambled to call a couple of work contacts for more information and discovered that there was an actual "guest list" for the big event and that she would need to bring some sort of photo identification.

"Lindsay was actually thrilled when I told her I was planning on bringing someone with me. Because nothing says 'Marry me, quick!' like a funeral," Ana laughed while wiping the lenses of her glasses with the tail of the black cardigan she'd slipped on after they'd swung by her apartment so she could pick up some fresh clothes. She'd quickly pinned her long, dark hair up into a bun and Jet smiled silently, pleased by the sight of the exposed nape of her neck. Beneath her cardigan she wore a simple, mauve v-neck top and he briefly thought about how nice she'd look with a necklace. He looked down past her skirt and saw that she was still wearing her clunky police boots.

"What are you grinning at?" Ana asked, glancing across at Jet for a second before replacing her glasses and starting the car.

"You're just really pretty."

"Shut up," she giggled, blushing furiously. Jet chuckled, shaking his head. She really had no idea. "November playlist," she says. Jet's momentarily confused until Ana's car stereo begins to hum.

The first song consisted of only vocals and a guitar. The young man's voice was hard to describe. He was hardly a singer, but there was something mildly compelling about it nonetheless. After every two lines or so he'd very audibly start to lose his breath, his voice beginning to grow coarse before drawing more air into his lungs, beginning the cycle anew.

_She swings  
Silver over a black sea  
The moon shivers and splits  
She breaks up  
And bleeds out  
Silver over a black sea  
Where I can't hope to reach her_

"It's Ezekiel's band. It's the only song he sings," Ana said before Jet asked. "Do you hate it?"

"Well," Jet said, smirking, "It's not my cup of tea, but it's certainly suitable as far as 'we're going to a funeral' music goes."

"I haven't listened to this one for a while, but I thought I'd reacquaint myself with it. You know -- with my new insight," she winked.

"You know," Jet began, "I was surprised you didn't speak to him much. I mean besides trying to spit out that stuff to us about the guitar bashing."

Ana rolled her eyes. "Jesus, don't remind me," she muttered. "I felt like such a goof. Totally didn't go the way it went in my head."

"How'd it go in your head?"

"Me: So nice to meet you. Him: Can I touch your boobs?" She looked over at Jet. "I'm kidding."

"No, you're not," Jet laughed.

She grinned. "Seriously, what was I going to say? This is all too much in the realm of science fiction for little, ol' ordinary me. You guys are all flying around in your little spaceships, carrying guns and going in and out of deep freezes, and I'm at work twelve hours a day carrying around a clipboard and making sure everyone gets their coffee just the way they ordered it."

Jet shrugged his shoulders, "Nothing wrong with good, honest work and a regular paycheque."

"I guess. Still, I can't help but feel like at this point in my life I should be doing something a little more challenging. Like, not dealing-with-idiots-on-an-hourly-basis challenging. I don't know. Now I'm depressing myself. I'm going to ruin the funeral for everyone."

Jet knew enough about Ana now to recognize her habit of making jokes to mask her vulnerabilities, and Ana knew enough about Jet to know that she didn't have to worry about being pressed to bring those feelings out in the open. It was enough that he understood them. They sat in silence and a more upbeat song started.

"You haven't said anything yet about Spike and Faye leaving the nest," Ana remarked carefully.

Jet sighed, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. From the second Ezekiel had said those words – _If you're still planning on leaving town_ – well, it was just about all Jet could think about. Not that he'd ever admit that to anyone. He supposed, though, that if he _had_ to admit it to someone, Ana would be a likely choice. Faye would be the last person he'd tell. Spike was the logical one of the two, which wasn't saying a hell of a lot, but at least he seemed to have a better grip on reality than Faye.

She'd changed so much over the past year, and Jet felt like he'd changed, too. He cared about her now in a way he wasn't ever expecting, and he suspected she might feel the same way. Jet had a sneaking suspicion that if Faye had even the slightest inkling he'd be lonely without them there'd be no way of dragging her off the ship.

Not that he wouldn't love her for that.

Still, Jet didn't want to be the subject of pity. It was important that he didn't let on to Faye and Spike how sad he'd be to see them go. It was also important that Ana not know. He didn't want a pity girlfriend.

"There's nothing much to say about it, really," he tried to say matter-of-factly. It came out a little forced. "It'll be hard. You get used to having people around, right? You get used to seeing them everyday..." He shrugged his shoulders, "Things'll be...different."

"You still have Ed and the dog. They both seem pretty crazy about you," Ana said gently. Jet smiled, appreciating her effort.

"Oh, I know. But Ed's got a father out there."

"Appledelhi? Yeah, he's out there alright."

"Eventually she's going to run off to find him again."

Ana shook her head. "Well she's here_ now_, isn't she? Jesus, Jet. Live in the moment for once. You really do a lot of moping over stuff that hasn't happened yet, don't you? Instead of enjoying the time you could be spending with those kids of yours, you're waiting around for the other shoe to drop..." her voice trailed off into a strange sort of silence. Jet looked over at her, not sure if she was angry at him or worried that she'd said something to offend him. She rolled down her window; the rush of cool, autumn air momentarily whipped her long hair into a frenzy. Her hand reached up to coax the dark strands back behind her ear.

"Ana?" he broached a little nervously.

"Sorry," she said suddenly. "It's really stupid, but I was sort of hoping you'd point out that I was still here. Pretty adolescent of me, eh?"

Jet exhaled slowly, pleasantly relieved. "It's only because I didn't want to make any assumptions. I want you here. I think I...I think I need you here."

Ana smirked, "And we all know how much you hate that."

"What?"

"Needing someone."

"Yeah," Jet nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I take care of those guys; manage the money, line up the bounties, do all the repairs. Hell, even the cooking's left up to me. I'm used to being the one who's needed."

"Well, you won't have to give up being needed just yet," Ana said softly, leaning over and gingerly pressing her lips to his. She pulled back, eyeing him carefully. "Are you alright with that?"

Jet smiled. "How about we pull over for a bit?" he said casually. "To make sure I'm alright with it, I mean."

-

_Somewhere in my mind it seems  
Doubt it grows like weeds  
Fertilized with fear  
And sad won't leave  
Then I stop and breathe  
Let everything just be  
The birds sing Fur Elise  
To me_

-

Ana's hand tensed beneath Jet's.

"Look," she whispered. He followed her line of vision to the front row of the section to the right of the altar.

"What am I looking at?"

"There's a woman up front with long blonde hair wearing a grey dress. See her?"

Jet squinted hard, nearly giving himself a headache in the process. It was probably time he looked into getting some glasses or something. Lately he'd been getting commas and decimals mixed up, or developing migraines from staring too long and hard at the smaller branches of his bonsai – sometimes snipping at air once or twice before his clippers finally wrapped around anything. He figured he'd been farsighted for some time now, but was sort of able to cope with it by subtly holding reading material and the likes out at arm's length. But now both far away _and_ up close had started to get fuzzy. How long before he'd have to admit he was on the brink of becoming blind as a bat? He'd already lost an arm, his hair, and the smooth skin around his eyes. It hardly seemed fair that at thirty-seven he'd also begun to develop cataracts. What the hell did Ana see in him?

Perhaps she was due for a new pair of glasses herself.

"Yeah, I see her," Jet lied, still holding onto the hope that he'd be able to see her eventually. "What about her?"

"I bet you she's a relative. She's the only person in the first two rows who doesn't look like she shops Chanel. From the looks of it, she's not wearing any jewellery either."

"Okay..." Jet replied, not sure what Ana was getting at.

"So she either can't afford to put on a show like everybody else in here, or she's actually in mourning -- _unlike_ everybody else in here -- and hardly thinks dressing up like you're going to a New Year's Eve party is appropriate," Ana explained. "Plus, she managed to get prime seats for this thing. She's practically in the front row."

Jet furrowed his brow, making a second attempt to spot the woman Ana was talking about. Still no luck. He'd just have to take her word for it.

"She looks so...normal," Ana said softly, sadly. She suddenly looked as though she might cry. He lifted his prosthetic arm and wrapped it around her shoulders, gently rocking her against him.

"We'll keep an eye on her and see if we can't get close enough to offer our condolences personally," Jet said, even though Ana was clearly the only one out of the pair of them who had two working eyes. When he looked down at her again he found she no longer merely _looked_ like she might cry.

He sighed inwardly, only just noticing the bulb gone dull in his head.

"You were afraid no one would miss him?"

She was afraid no one would miss her.

Ana sniffled, her face half-hidden against his chest. She nodded, "Something like that, yes."

_I'd miss you_, he thought. _Stay with me._

This was hardly the time nor place to discuss it, but his throat ached to speak the words. His mind, operating on a different wavelength entirely, staunchly represented the opposition.

It was that goddamned camera he found in Faye's room. Someone had been in her room; someone other than Spike. Hell, even Jet had never really gotten a good look at her haunt since she'd moved in there. Later it had occurred to Jet that Ed had known about the camera for some time. He and Jet had misinterpreted her words the night after Faye had returned to the ship to break Spike's nose.

"Never let a dream machine gather dust in your garage," is what Ed had said.

Jet, like Spike, had assumed that Ed was talking about the Alpha-Catch. Ed must have actually been referring to Faye's bed as "the dream machine".

Ana had claimed to see the redheaded woman leaving the ship, and as much as Jet believed her, he knew it would be without much sense to trust her completely. Spike had been extremely preoccupied with his emotional shit that evening, so his senses may have been dulled. Spike could normally hear a cricket rubbing its legs together in a room halfway across the ship. He was useful that way. Is it possible the redhead was able to get on and off the ship without him hearing or seeing a thing?

But then Ed had also said that she'd seen her.

But then on the other hand, Ed was nuts.

The redhead had been at the Cine Gemelo for the cast party. Ana had been the one to point her out to Jet when she spotted her speaking to Spike. Ana had also promptly asked Jet to dance, causing him to lose track of his comrades. Did she ask him to dance as a means of distracting him from the mess that nearly resulted in Spike and Faye getting killed?

He looked down at her again. She was nestled against him, warm and soft and teary-eyed. She'd held Faye and comforted her – a stranger at the time -- in the hospital, as though it were second nature to her. She'd driven them to Doc's to remove the bullet in Spike's shoulder. She'd taken charge the night Faye's sister passed away, calling the paramedics then driving the five of them to the hospital.

And sure -- she hated Spike. But hers was just one name on a very, _very_ long list.

With Spike and Faye leaving today, it was near impossible to battle the desire to fill the void they'd leave with something. Someone. And would there ever be a better time than now?

_Do you really want someone to make the decision to move in with you in a fit of panic at the threat of dying alone? How fucking romantic._

Ana was right. Nothing says, "Marry me, quick!" like a funeral.

He'd already fallen in love with her, and that was enough stupidity for the time being.

Spike had been grudgingly tolerating Ana's presence on the ship for Jet's sake, but Jet would still catch him glaring at her once in a while when he may have thought no one was looking. To the casual eye, Spike looked perfectly cool and collected, which put Ana marginally more at ease than when she'd first spent the night. She seemed more irritated with him now than afraid of him. But subtle shifts in Spike's facial features kept Jet from letting his guard down when the three of them were in a room. Spike's eyes spoke unintentional volumes. His eyes would narrow a hair, or he'd stop blinking for a length of time like a cat trying to figure out if a shadow spotted through the corner of his eye garnered further investigation. Seemingly out of nowhere Jet would ask Ana to put on a pot of coffee, or invite her to accompany him to the hangar so he could have a cigarette. Sometimes he'd find a way to get Spike to leave the room instead. Jet was afraid to leave the two of them alone together.

He shifted his weight, gently encouraging Ana to sit back up on her own without removing his arm from her shoulders. He needed to realign his focus.

Blonde woman. Front row. Possible Calhoun. Go.

He was pleasantly surprised when his eyes finally found the woman Ana had been talking about all this time. As Ana had said, she was plainly dressed in grey. Her hair hung heavily around her face. It took Jet a moment or two to realize the reason he'd been able to spot her this time around was because she had turned in her seat and was staring straight at them.

He nudged Ana who had removed her glasses to clean the water spots from the lenses. She slipped them back on.

"Look," he whispered.

"Oh shit," Ana gasped. "Have we been talking that loudly?"

Jet shook his head, "No. I don't think that's it. She's looking at us like...like she knows us."

"Knows us like_ how_?" she asked nervously. She was thinking the same thing he was -- that the woman might be another redhead. He had already made a mental note of the locations of all the church's exits, but he summoned them to the forefront of his memory again, just in case.

The woman abruptly turned away, fumbling with what might have been her purse, and the hairs at the back of Jet's neck stood up. She wasn't reaching for a gun, was she? She wouldn't do something in front of all these people, would she? He reminded himself that the redhead had tried to kill Spike and Faye in a hotel full of celebrities and photographers. He was about to reach under his jacket for his gun when the woman's hand came back into view, and with it -- a handful of tissues. She sobbed, burying her face in one, and Jet let out a long, slow breath.

The woman stood and started walking down the aisle towards the back of the church, dabbing at her wet cheeks and sniffling. She made no eye contact as she passed their pew and Jet wondered if perhaps he and Ana had imagined the whole silent exchange, but a second later Ana noticed a small, crumpled ball of paper swimming in her lap.

They both looked at it curiously for a second before Jet pulled Ana back into the crook of his arm to protect from the potential of prying eyes as she carefully, quietly open up the bunched bit of paper.

In small, almost fortune cookie-like type it read:

_Little India  
Silk House  
2:45 a.m._

-

Lyrics from The Pretenders' _Hymn to Her,_ Nadsat's _Break Up_ and Ubiquitous Synergy Seekers' _Me vs. Us _were quoted. Please don't sue.

-


	105. I Leave Myself Behind In Pieces

So.

There may be quite a few typos and gauche grammar things happening here. This time it wasn't a matter of not reading it over to check for stuff like that, but reading it over too many times. All the words started to blur together. That's usually a sign that I need to let go. And now I heave a sigh of relief, because even if it turns out there's more wrong with the chapter than I think, it's no longer in my head blocking other thoughts like, "How do I put pants on?" or "Is there a 'z' in my name?"

Faye and Ezekiel finally say goodbye. Spike tries not to lose his mind.

As per usual, I'd love to know your thoughts on the chapter, and if there are any songs you're interested in that I've quoted, PM me and I'll get it to you. :)

I love you.

ssg.x.

-

_And all my sorrows awaken  
And all my fear's run down  
I turn myself into an angel  
I run myself into the ground_

_And all the reasons invading  
Twist and turn my aching soul  
I leave myself behind in pieces  
I know you'll need them when I'm gone_

-

Ezekiel didn't look as though he was even breathing. Pale as a sheet and cold as a sting, he stood perfectly still with the only sound passing between them being the static breaths rolling in the back of his throat. Whether or not the strange sound was the result of illness or ardour, Faye couldn't immediately know. In those few moments she only understood that the silence would have to be broken one of two ways, and that both roads would lead to some form of infinite regret.

"Ezekiel..." she began shakily. His cold, bloodless hand was still wrapped inside hers.

"I think," he whispered, his fingers stiffening in her tenuous grip, "you need to leave now."

She nodded, beginning to pull her hand away. She felt his fingers slipping silkily through hers before they withdrew completely. The silence that followed was dizzying. Their lips had remained mercilessly close and when they both turned their heads in opposite directions to break the dangerous connection, they swayed as though a rope they'd been pulling from either end had snapped, sending them both off balance.

"I'll get into a cab," she said, clearing her throat and staring wistfully at the hand that had held his. Forgetting that it had been injured during the crash against Bea's vanity, she barely noticed that the fingers had begun to swell.

"Okay," he said. He looked at her quietly one last time before hesitantly walking to the street. By now the rain had started showing signs of tapering off. The sun was beginning to rise. Pink streaks of clouds, like vapour trails reaching across the horizon, suggested that the sun might actually shine today. Ezekiel stepped off the curb, leaning into the street. Faye approached him slowly, slipping her hand back into his, thinking he might be able to use some of her strength. He no longer seemed to harbour the desire to pull away from her.

Maybe the past few minutes had changed something. Maybe Ezekiel would return to the ship with her, follow she and Spike out of town. Her heart was suddenly in her throat. But then she looked up at him and saw his jaw setting, felt muscles tighten through his arm to the very tips of his fingers. Within moments the hand she'd held was in the air and a cab was slowing and stopping before them

The cab driver leaned over in his seat as he rolled down the passenger window. "Any luggage?"

"No," Ezekiel replied crisply, "just a box."

_Just a box._

Ezekiel ushered Faye into the backseat of the cab, momentarily taking the box from her so that she could settle in before replacing it on her lap. Faye tried not to look too hurt about his not even offering to hug her goodbye. She understood that perhaps it was in the best interests of them both that they didn't, but that wasn't of much comfort just then. She wanted to wrap herself up in the memory of the single breath before the kiss, when neither of them knew whether or not there would be one.

That was the major difference between Spike and Ezekiel. If it was Spike, there would have been a kiss. Spike was very much a victim to his compulsion for instant gratification. He ate, drank and smoked as needed. Spike was an angel wearing one white wing and one black, with need being the demon that constantly tested him. When he'd first kissed Faye it was because within that moment he needed to kiss her. And when its intimacy became too much for him to bear, he'd thrown Faye away from him and into a wall, injuring her shoulder and leaving her dark head spinning.

She wished for a moment that, beyond the dark, unruly hair and brown eyes the two men already shared, Ezekiel could be a little more like Spike.

Ezekiel gestured to the box. "I put some stuff in there for you. Like, stuff that used to belong to you that I'd...hung on to."

Faye looked down into the box. Haphazardly tossed on top of the pile of photographs, knick-knacks, and papers her sister had painstakingly collected and organized for her was her old notebook and the letter he'd written her.

Faye looked back up into his eyes. "You...don't want to keep them?"

"No. It will be harder...to do things...I mean, it'll be hard for me to..." he stammered. Predictably, when she glanced down at his hand, it was patting the left pocket of his jeans nervously.

"See them?" she offered, mercifully finishing his thought for him.

"Yes. You understand, don't you?"

"I guess so."

"Take this," Ezekiel said, awkwardly reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small brown envelope. "You've got two cash cards in there. It should be enough money to get you and Spike started up somewhere. I doubt you'll be able to do any bounty hunting for a long time, so you'll need money for food, clothes, and an apartment. I have a place in Elysium-M but I can't be one hundred percent sure they don't know about it, so it isn't really all that good a place to hide out."

"Where will you go? This isn't exactly the Bat Cave either," Faye nodded toward the apartment building.

Ignoring her question, Ezekiel continued. "Bea and I had some papers written up for you and Spike to take along with you. You'll need them to claim the rest of the money."

"Rest of the money?"

"Yes. Your sister had been putting money away for you for some time, and I've left you –"

Faye's hand went up, signalling for him to stop. "You've left me...? Like, for after you've..."

"Faye, it's inevitable, whether I go with you or not."

Ezekiel reached out and stroked her hair. She leaned lightly into his touch and he pressed back gently but insistently. She saw him shiver as he straightened, shrugging back into his jacket and stuffing his hands into his pockets.

"Goodbye, Faye."

Faye nodded with as much of a lack of emotional fanfare as she could muster. There was nothing left to say.

Ezekiel closed her door and stepped back onto the sidewalk. The cab slowly pulled away from the curb and began making its way down the street. She turned to look at him through the rear window but found he'd already disappeared. Tears started coming hard and fast. She turned away, settling back into her seat.

"So where are you headed?"

Faye pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes and exhaled deeply. She almost didn't hear the driver for the sound of her brain sloshing back and forth like brine against the insides of her skull.

"Lord, I haven't got a clue," she said hoarsely. "I don't know."

"Let's start with the basics then – north, south, east or west?"

"West," she said.

"West it is. We'll play the rest of it by ear, okay?" he said, glancing at her in the rearview mirror. He smiled a sympathetic smile and she nodded her thanks. She must have looked like a big, soggy lunatic. For a minute, she'd forgotten about the cash cards in the brown envelope sitting in her lap. She finally folded it in half, slipping it clumsily into her jacket pocket. She rested her head against the window and closed her eyes.

"Did you forget something?" the driver asked.

"What do you mean?" she croaked, still in a daze. She hadn't noticed that the cab had swerved out of their lane only halfway down the street.

Faye had barely opened her eyes when the car door swung open, a rush of air sweeping in and taking her breath away. She felt a hand close around her ankle before the person at the other end of it began dragging her across the backseat, turning her cardboard box on its side. Her heart leapt to her throat. She cried out as another hand closed firmly around her wrist, sweeping the rest of her body out of the car, trailing papers and photographs along behind her.

Ending a brief struggle, over the course of which Faye realized she wasn't going to die, her lips found Ezekiel's, the blood in her veins recognizing him before sight or sound could. He wrapped one arm around her neck to protect it from the roof of the car as his mouth bore down on hers. His other arm grasped her around her waist, beneath her jacket and sweater. The bandages were rough across the small of her back, and when his hand unfurled against her bare skin, she gasped, pulling herself further into the embrace. She was still shaking from the scare he'd given her.

"I'm sorry..." he whispered. "I'm so stupid."

"Yeah, you are," she said. She pulled his dark head back down to hers. She knit her fingers through his hair and drew the sigh that fell from his lips into her lungs.

What Bea had said, despite Faye's previous denial, had been spot-on. She had wanted Ezekiel to drop to his knees and beg her not to leave. She'd been on the other side of that exchange more than a few times. Under other circumstances, she might have relished watching the tables turn, but in this case she only felt as though she were holding tightly to the end of a long blade thrust through the both of them together.

_It's a kiss goodbye_, she told herself. _It's just a kiss goodbye._

Ezekiel's hand travelled the length of her, ever higher, until his thumb grazed her breast. Her breath caught in her throat and his mouth lifted away from hers, but not before the curled tip of his tongue slipped along the underside of her own. The sensation of it drew a light, gauzy moan from the pit of her stomach. For Christ's sake, why was he doing this to her? Moments ago he barely wanted to risk holding her hand.

His voice, low and hoarse in his throat, fractured as he spoke her name, returning her presence of mind. This Ezekiel was far more dangerous than the boy. Being in love with the boy he once was, was one thing. She knew her memories would become less and less of a threat to her relationship with Spike as time went on. But falling in love with Ezekiel made from flesh, soul and bone...

_This is a fucking disaster._

"Let me help you with those," he said suddenly.

Faye blinked, eyes clouded with confusion.

Ezekiel crouched down, retrieving the pictures and letters that had fallen on the ground when he had pulled her out of the car. She took them from him, slipping them into the back pocket of her jeans.

"What now?" she asked quietly. White hot embers emerged from the seemingly infinite starless sky of his eyes, and the split in his lip that she had nipped at during their kiss glowed red. His hair seemed to capture an auburn dawn within each ribbon of it.

"The brown envelope I gave you," he said. "Where is it?"

Faye felt around in her jacket pockets. She pulled it out and held it up for Ezekiel to see. He carefully took it from her. Folding and pinching one end of it, he gingerly tore it open. He tipped it sideways and the contents slid smoothly into the palm of his hand. She watched him curiously, eyes travelling from the envelope to his eyes and back again. He tucked the two cash cards back inside and as he did so, her curiosity caused her to unconsciously inch up onto her toes.

"I wasn't going to give this to you, like, in person. I stuck it in the envelope for you to find later. I didn't want to confuse you. And I know it might, but I'm doing it anyways." He sounded nervous, but determined. Faye smiled. It was such a small thing – holding his heart out to her, trusting that it would be safe in her capable hands. Even though it was too late. _Far too late._

"That last night I saw you I'd planned on giving you this as a gift. But then I chickened out at the last minute."

Faye tried to think back to those last few hours before she and Ezekiel said goodnight in front of the gates of her home. She'd gone to see Ezekiel's band. They'd started walking home and she'd held him close to stop him from shivering beneath his thin t-shirt and denim jacket. They had argued. She remembered that. She remembered his telling her that he would be going away to the U.S. for a little while. She wanted to go with him. They'd tell her parents the next day that she would be putting off school for a year to follow him.

What he'd said before they'd started arguing...

_Oh, no..._

I want to marry you.

That's what he had said. Then there had been an awkward pause. She'd thought he was just being cute. She'd laughed it off.

When he held the envelope aside, there it was. A ring. It was small -- brushed silver with a single, tiny green gem embedded in it.

_He's lost his fucking mind._

Faye's legs were beginning to wobble beneath her. She climbed back into the cab, staring down at her hands, her shoes, his boots. Anywhere but his face. Ezekiel leaned in, resting one arm along the top of the doorway.

Trembling, she said, "Ezekiel...honestly. If you...I'll kill you. I swear to God, I'll kill you."

"Don't misunderstand me," he said. "I'm not nuts enough to propose to you now. I just wanted to give it to you myself. All the time we spent together...in all that time I don't think I ever really trusted I could just have you. And then one afternoon your parents were away, and we..." he paused, his face flushed with colour. "Well, anyways...Afterwards, we were lying in your parents' bed, and you said --"

"I can see us lying this way together...fifty years from now," Faye finished weakly.

"Yeah," Ezekiel said, smiling sadly. "I wanted you to turn eighteen that second. I could barely think of anything else those months leading up to it. I bought the ring four weeks later. After that, when Jimmy told me we'd been asked to tour the states, I needed to go. I needed more money. Christ knows my parents weren't going to help me out, and after everything your father did to get me out of all that legal trouble, I hardly felt comfortable asking him for any favours. Anyways, it was a complete failure," he chuckled. "I just blurted it out --"

"I want to marry you," she said numbly.

"Yes. I just blurted it out – it wasn't even a question anymore -- and you looked at me like I was crazy. 'I want to marry you now' turned into 'I want to marry you someday'. And then we got into that argument." Ezekiel leaned further into the cab, trying to read the expression on her face. Without realizing it, she had moved across the backseat, away from him, her feet no longer touching the ground. Expression-wise, Faye could offer little for him to work with.

She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, "Please don't..."

Ezekiel, looking miserable, thrust the ring towards her awkwardly, holding it between the thumb and forefinger of his bandaged hand. His eyes grew dark. He looked away.

"You don't have to wear it or anything, alright? You can put it back in that box there with all the other stuff from your past. Hell, you can throw it out or sell it if you want, but it was important to me that I give it to you," he said. He grimaced for a second, as though the words he spoke were as bitter on his tongue as they were in her ear. "And I know I'm being selfish and that it's probably really fucking with your head right now, but I don't give a sh--"

Grabbing the hem of his jacket with both hands, Faye pulled herself up out of her seat, simultaneously pulling him down towards her. She wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

"Shut up," Faye breathed.

"It's engraved," Ezekiel said softly.

"I hate you."

"Atta girl."

-

_It was the suit that got me the gig  
It was the tear that got me the girl  
I'm a sheep in this wolf's clothing  
I'm a picture that I'm holding  
of someone who is cool_

-

Spike sat out on the dock, his legs dangling over the side, a cigarette hanging idly from the corner of his mouth. The sun had already begun to set, and a biting wind coming off the water kept a heady chill moving almost rhythmically throughout his long, lanky body. Every so often he'd look back over his shoulder at the ship, hearing its heavy heart beating in his ears. It was how he had been able to find his way home time and time again.

He was waiting patiently for the panic to set in.

Becoming the sole guardian of Faye was already weighing on his mind and they hadn't even left the ship yet. He was ashamed for it. When she'd asked if he wanted her to join him on the dock, he'd convinced her that she should focus on packing, having something to eat and taking a nap before the long drive.

She'd been looking pretty out of it all day, as though she hadn't slept all night. There was a strange, tangible disconnect when their eyes met. He had to remind himself that her sister had passed away only yesterday. He had to remind himself that the past few weeks had been neither a dream nor a nightmare.

Time in numbers had become rather ineffectual. Spike was in the bathroom cutting his hair when Faye had asked him if he wanted more coffee. Faye had started getting her things together about the same time Ed had asked Spike a question about whether or not fish had eyelids. Jet called to let Spike know that he and Ana were on their way back to the ship at approximately the same time Faye was shrieking at Ein as he flew through the living area as fast as his stubby little legs could carry him, his jaws locked firmly around what appeared to be one of Faye's kitten heels. Spike figured that all of this had happened within a span of about four and a half hours. Jet was the only one who seemed to always know what time it was even though Spike had never seen him wearing a watch. But then Jet was always the guy who was good with numbers and almost spot-on when it came to his guesstimates. Perhaps it was the cop in him.

Spike knew he'd already been sitting outside waiting for Jet for about half an hour. He was on his second cigarette and the bones in the hand that brought it to and from his lips felt brittle from being exposed to the cold for so long. So yeah, he figured it had been about half an hour.

"What about sharks?"

Spike jumped, almost tipping over into the black waters below. Instead, the only casualty of surprise was his cigarette. When he turned his head to see Ed sitting uncharacteristically prim beside him, he frowned. Not because he wasn't happy to see the kid or anything like that, but because it was just further proof, as far as he was concerned, that his reflexes had dulled considerably over the last few weeks.

"Sharks?" Spike repeated, confused. His head was still a little fuzzy from staring into the water for too long. Ed nodded. What little was left of the sun clung to her fiery red head and the freckles that dotted her nose. Her golden eyes were wide as she waited patiently for an answer to her question.

"Oh," Spike said, clueing in. "The eyelid thing. Right."

"Yes, please."

Spike thought about it for a couple of minutes, genuinely trying to remember if he'd ever come across such a random bit of trivia. Ed had always asked for very little, and he truly wanted to oblige her this one time. This could very well turn out to be the last time they'd ever see eachother.

Ed drew her knees up and leaned her cheek against them. Spike barely blinked when he noticed that she was wearing a pair of Jet's gloves over her feet. She wasn't, however, wearing a jacket, and before Spike could even think of it, he put an arm around her and drew her closer to protect her from the wind. She nestled against him.

"Ed...doesn't..." she began, voice so quiet and sombre he would hardly believe it was Ed if her unmistakeably wild hair wasn't tickling his nostrils just then. "I don't want you to go."

Spike smiled sadly. "Promise me something?"

"Hm?"

"Promise me you'll take care of the old man?"

He felt her head slowly moving up and down beneath his chin as she nodded.

"Are you dying?" she asked.

He chuckled. "No. Not this time."

He shifted his body just enough to be able to reach into his inside jacket pocket.

"Listen, kid, I want you to have something, okay?"

"A present?"

"Yeah," he said. He pulled out his Zippo lighter, holding it in front of her. It was really the only thing he had to give. He couldn't remember if sharks had eyelids.

Ed took the shiny object from his fingers. He could see the reflection of her smile in its chrome side, and it pleased him even more than he thought it would.

"Just so you know," he explained, "smoking's bad for you. Really bad, okay? And don't start any fires."

Okay, so maybe giving a certifiably insane kid a lighter wasn't a genius move, but Ed wasn't really a kid anymore. And anyways – something about it seemed fitting. There'd been many a time Ed had sat out here on the dock with him and had as much to do with taking the edge off of things as the cigarettes would.

"Three," he said.

"Hm?"

"Sharks. They have three eyelids," he explained, drawing on faint memories of fifth grade science. He was looking at Ed and trying to remember what it had been like to be a child.

"Thank you," she said.

They sat together in silence for the longest time. Spike couldn't even begin to guess how long.

Soon he could hear Ed snoring lightly as her head swayed heavily from her shoulders. In her hand she clutched his lighter to her chest. He pulled open one side of his parka and wrapped it around her shoulders protectively. He closed his eyes and rested his chin against the top of her fluffy head.

_Thank you._

-

Lyrics quoted from Black Rebel Motorcycle Club's _Feel It Now_ and The Odds' _Someone Who's Cool_. Don't sue, please.


	106. Commas and Ampersands

Solitude stands by the window  
She turns her head as I walk in the room  
I can see by her eyes she's been waiting  
Standing in the slant of the late afternoon  
And she turns to me with her hand extended  
Her palm is split with a flower with a flame

Ana was in the ship's bathroom stall trying to figure out how to lock the door. _Why does everything on this ship have to be so damn complicated?_ After fumbling unsuccessfully for five minutes with what may or may not have been a lock, she admitted defeat. Instead, she concentrated her efforts on pulling her tights up and her skirt down while holding the door closed. She was sure the last thing she needed right now was for Spike to whip the door open and find her standing there with her Bat Maru boy shorts down around her police boots. Being cornered by Spike anywhere on this ship made her nervous enough. Being frightened and humiliated at the same time...? Was that possible?

She moved quickly, if not gracefully, to smooth the hem of her skirt back down around her knees before washing her hands and getting the hell out of there.

"Ana?"

Ana jumped almost a foot off the ground. She whirled around, seeing Faye, or her head rather, poking out from the doorway of her room. Ana sighed, relieved.

"You scared me," she said breathlessly.

"I'm sorry," Faye replied, looking genuinely apologetic. "You know, you don't have to be afraid of him. He just doesn't like new people. He treated me pretty rotten when I first got here, too."

"Love at first sight, then?"

Faye laughed, "Yeah. Days of wine and roses."

Ana approached her room and Faye stepped aside, silently inviting her in. Just like Jet had mentioned, the bloody green dress was still hanging on the wall, right in the doorway so there was no way anyone could walk past it without seeing it. She wondered if Faye was going to bring it with her when she left. She smirked. Spike would love that.

Faye's hair was pulled back from her forehead and held there by a very yellow hair band. She was wearing a large, white t-shirt and a pair of freshly washed, obscenely green cargo pants. She was barefoot, and her toenails were each painted a different colour to match her fingernails. She looked like a colourblind twelve-year-old.

Faye's bed was covered with jars and plastic containers, make-up brushes, lipsticks, and dozens of eye shadow palettes. The drawers of Faye's wooden dresser gaped and sagged, emptied of its contents. Ana wondered if Spike or Jet ever bothered to tell Faye about the camera they'd found in it. The two men seemed to go out of their way to tip toe around her like she was a Faberge egg and, as a woman, Ana found it a little offensive. It was like Spike had rescued Rapunzel from the tower and stuck her in his garage for safe-keeping. It was Faye's life that was susceptible to the highest amount of risk, after all, and she was the least informed about what was happening around her. As far as Ana was concerned, Spike and Jet's obsession with "protecting" Faye was doing her far more harm than good.

"Still have quite a bit to pack, huh?"

"Well... I can't really pack, per say. I don't have any luggage or anything. It's all going in this." She held up an empty pillowcase and smiled, looking a little embarrassed. "I had a travel bag, but I..." she shook her head, looking away. "I left it at Roscoe's. I never got it back."

Ana's eyes flit back to the dress on the wall.

"I'd offer you my overnight bag, but Spike might think I've put some sort of tracking device in it," Ana said. Faye chuckled. She didn't know that Ana was only half-joking.

"Ana..." Faye slipped behind her and gingerly pressed on a panel against the wall. The door to her room slid closed, followed by the sound of a lock engaging. _So that's how you get those damn things to lock._

Faye bit her lip, her eyes darting from Ana to the floor, then back to Ana. "I have a favour to ask."

Ana eyed her carefully. She smoothed down her skirt with sweaty palms. She couldn't help but worry that Spike might not like the idea of Faye and Ana locked in a room together. It hadn't been slipping beneath her radar that Spike was trying his best not to leave Faye alone with her.

Ana crossed the room, found a clear spot on the bed, and sat down. Faye pulled her left hand out from behind her back. It was heavily bandaged and tightly knotted. Ana looked up at her.

"What happened?" she asked.

Faye fought with the knot for a second before Ana reached out her hand, wordlessly offering to untie it for her. Once the bandages were unravelled, Ana could see Faye's very pale skin marred by bruises, most of them concentrated around her knuckles.

"Are you alright?"

Faye nodded. "I'm fine. I had a bit of an accident."

"Okay..."

"The ring..." Faye began, quietly, desperately.

Ana didn't notice it right away, curling around her ring finger. The flesh around it was swollen, dark. It must be killing her.

"I can't take it off. I've tried creams and soaps and it won't come off," Faye said, her voice becoming agitated.

Ana gingerly took Faye's hand in hers. "Is it cutting off your circulation? Are you in pain?"

Faye shook her head. "No, I just need to get it off."

"I'll try to find some ice. You need to bring the swelling down, and then we'll give it another go, okay?"

Faye bit into her bottom lip, hard. "How long will that take?"

Ana shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. It looks pretty bad. But don't worry. It's not like we're going to drive off without you."

She smiled. Faye didn't.

"Is something else bothering you?" Ana asked carefully.

"I..."

Ana recognized the look on Faye's face. It was the same look Jet would give her before telling her anything he deemed to be of any real importance - like he was still trying to decide whether or not to trust her. Ana found it irritating, but it was a progression from the hurt she used to feel.

"I don't want anyone to know about the ring. I made a stupid mistake and the timing's really, _really_ bad."

Ana didn't say anything. Faye shook her head.

"I went to see Ezekiel last night."

She whispered the words as though there was a possibility someone on the ship might possess the superpowers that would give them the ability to hear conversations through heavy steel.

"Spike doesn't know," Ana said, stating the obvious.

Faye pressed her face into her hands. "No," she moaned tiredly. "He doesn't know. And it's a miracle Jet hasn't said anything to him."

"Jet isn't like that, is he?"

Faye was still talking into her hands. "Well, no. Not anymore, I guess. But...well. Let's just say he fell just as hard for me as Spike did when I first arrived."

Ana pushed at her glasses and pulled the loose hairs that had fallen out of her bun tightly back behind her ears. "I'll go get some ice. If Spike asks me what I'm doing rummaging around, I'll just tell him I'm building a bomb."

Faye's face finally emerged from behind her hands, revealing a strained smile.

But at least she was smiling.

I hear the bells  
They are like emeralds, and  
Glints in the night  
Commas and ampersands  
Your moony face  
So inaccessible  
Your inner mind  
So inexpressible

One wouldn't be able to say that Sunday nights are much quieter than any other night of the week in Tharsis. Down here on the ground, that is. But there is something about Sunday's sky – less air traffic, which means that, for a change, there are more stars in the sky than blinking lights. The winds are stronger now, and a smattering of clouds pick up the light of the only visible moon as they breeze across the sky, trailing chalky blues and silver through its blackness.

"Should we postpone then?"

"Are you kidding? I'm only telling you so you know to get back to me tomorrow to find out what happened."

Jet and Spike sit out in the hangar together, Spike warming his hands by rolling a coffee-filled thermos back and forth between his palms. Jet is wearing his wool navy coat and old Cossack hat. He's drinking another of Ana's beers, expertly managing to hold both the bottle and a lit cigarette with one hand.

"So, who do you suppose this lady is?" Spike asks, spinning the lid off the thermos and venturing a sip. He feels the sting of it on his tongue and swears.

"Couldn't say, really. It might be another redhead. But I don't know. I'm leaning towards trusting my first instinct, which is that she's just a Calhoun."

"_Your_ first instinct?" Spike arches an eyebrow at him.

Jet looks across at him, "Yeah. Why?"

"Doesn't sound like your kind of first instinct, is all. Your first instinct is usually not to trust anyone as far as you can throw them."

Mildly offended, Jet snorts, "Listen, kiddo – I'm all grown up now. You don't have to worry about me. You can think whatever you want of Ana, but it's not going to make a lick of difference. And it shouldn't make much difference to you, either. You and Faye are outta here in...Actually, how long before we get going? What are we waiting on?"

"What do you think?" Spike replies, huffing. Faye. Neither of them needs to say it out loud. She's always been the sort of woman who jumps into everything with both feet, but she certainly took her time preparing for the leap. Spike wouldn't be surprised to see her emerging from the shadows with her face all painted like she was ready for Mardi Gras.

"How's she been?" Jet asks.

Spike shrugs his shoulders, passing the thermos back and forth from one hand to the other.

"I don't know. She seems fine, which doesn't seem right. Yesterday in Ana's car all she could talk about was leaving. She got angry because I wasn't ready to drive off with her that minute. She didn't want to talk about her sister at all. Or that other ghost of hers for that matter. I don't know. She's just like herself – fighting with the dog, letting Ed paint her nails and brush her hair. A little while ago she was lying on the couch flipping through one of her old magazines with that face mask shit she used to slather on every Friday night. She looks and sounds perfectly normal."

Jet takes an extra long drag of his cigarette, exhaling slowly. The hands holding the thermos pick up their _pace - back and forth, back and forth_ - like a bouncing ball. Jet wonders why Spike hasn't asked for a cigarette yet.

"But it's all so forced. She's too much like Valentine. And if you'd seen her yesterday..."

"What?"

Jet notices Spike's trimmed his hair. He's done a fair job of it, but it still obscures his eyes. When the wind picks up long enough, though, Jet catches sight of them - sunken and distressed. He's gnawing nervously at his bottom lip and his hands won't stop moving.

Spike shakes his head. "She just...she was talking like a crazy person. I haven't seen her that way since that night she ended up in the hospital."

In some ways, Jet had been hoping he'd never have to find out what actually happened between Faye and Spike the night she ended up in the hospital and Spike ended up in jail, accused of raping her. But now he's curious. Worried and curious. He wonders what he'll do to Spike if he finds out he'd actually done all those things he'd been accused of that evening.

Spike finally sets the thermos down between his knees. He's ready for a cigarette now. Jet reaches into his pocket and draws one out, lighting it before handing it over to Spike. They inhale deeply, both men thinking they'll need the nicotine in their system to get through the story.

"I found her at Roscoe's after stopping by her sister's. At the time I thought that maybe she was thinking I was Ezekiel, back from the dead or something. Now that I look back on it, Beatrice must have thought I was there to kill him, or Faye, or both. Maybe she could still smell syndicate on me." He drags hard on the cigarette between his lips and a faraway look settles across his face like a fog. He continues, "I get to Roscoe's, and when Faye finally lets me in, we talk. And things are good for about ten minutes. Then they get ugly. Really, really ugly."

Spike had almost walked away from Faye several times that evening. Now it seemed so stupid. He was afraid to speak the words that were in his heart because he was afraid of...what? Feeling them and saying them out loud – there was really no difference by that time, was there? Faye knew long before he did that things between them had changed and that there was no going back. One road lead to a sliver of a chance at happiness, and the other –

She had called him a coward that night. She had been right.

_You're a fucking coward, s_he had screamed. _I wish you were dead! I wish I was dead! Neither of us is supposed to be here. This whole relationship, this twisted, fucking ugly thing we have defies every fucking law of physics, space, time...fuck!_

Regaling the tale to Jet, Spike leaves out all the sex and violence. Despite the chaos, it's still a moment shared between them that he's tucked away in his heart. Even amidst its turmoil; the exchange of hateful words and bruises inflicted, Spike had come out of it irrevocably in love with Faye. If things had progressed any differently, he's not sure what would have happened - what he and Faye would be now. It scares him to think about it.

"I manage to convince her to come home. And then out of nowhere she loses it. We're talking, but not to each other. I'm talking to her but she's talking to him. She's talking to Ezekiel." He bursts into mirthless laughter. "Jesus, I hate saying his name."

"So how'd you end up getting arrested?" Jet is enthralled, though he tries not to show it. He takes a sip of his beer, holding the cigarette off to the side. Spike takes another puff of his.

"Roscoe," he says. "Roscoe shows up. Right in the middle of her fit, Faye passed out, and the timing was fantastic. Roscoe shows up and she's hanging from my arms like a dead fucking fish. He's got two ISSPs with him. I don't know if he was just waiting in the wings to make his dramatic entrance, or if all our shouting woke up the damn neighbourhood. I don't know. I remember there was music."

"What music? Like in those old mystery movies?" Jet asks, smiling.

_Dun-dun-DUN._

He's trying to lighten the mood a bit. Spike looks across at him, not able to keep a grin from moving quickly across his otherwise sullen face. He appreciates Jet's effort.

"Music. From that band of his."

_Ezekiel's. _

Jet can't help but find it amusing – Spike really does hate saying that guy's name.

"I didn't notice it. Like, it was there playing somewhere in the background, but it was real' quiet. I didn't think anything of it until the night of the movie shindig. Roscoe told Faye he'd been instructed by T.H.E.M. to play it for her. He'd said he didn't think there was anything subliminal on it; it was just supposed to spark her memory. And let me tell you – there were sparks flying all over the place. It was like Chinese fucking New Year. Faye lost her mind. Just like yesterday. I'm wondering if I've just stumbled into the eye of the storm."

Spike picks up the thermos, quickly tries to unscrew the lid. He fumbles with it for a moment, grinding out a string of curses before he winds his arm back, ready to launch the thermos across the dock out of sheer frustration. Jet grabs it from him and calmly removes the lid, handing it back to him when he's sure Spike isn't going to hurl its scalding contents into his face.

"Sorry," Spike mutters.

"No problem," Jet replies. Then, "Thanks."

"For what?"

"For telling me what happened. I didn't want to know. I was afraid maybe you'd..." Jet shifts awkwardly in his seat. He can't even say the word. "I knew you couldn't have, but I wasn't sure..." He reaches back and scratches his head beneath his hat.

"You thought I'd actually hurt her?"

Jet nods, feeling a little ashamed. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to, but I couldn't help it."

A sad smile engages the corner of Spike's mouth.

"See?" he says. "That's a Jet instinct."

Look at all the waifs of Dickensian England  
Why is it their suffering is more picturesque?  
Must be 'cause their rags are so very Victorian  
The ones here at home just don't give it their best

Last year's troubles  
They shine up so prettily  
They gleam with a lustre they don't have today  
Because here it's just dirty  
And violent and troubling

Faye didn't open the door again until she was certain it was Ana. Not an easy feat given she couldn't see or hear through steel. Ana brushed past Faye, into her room, and instructed her to sit on the bed. In her arms she balanced a wok filled with ice cubes and a bottle of vegetable oil. She placed them beside Faye and then crouched down in front of her, placing the wok on Faye's lap. Faye gently worked her hand into the ice, hissing through her teeth.

"Shit," she muttered, pressing her other hand against her mouth and biting into its flesh. She glanced down at Ana. "Thank you for doing this," she said. Ana got up on her knees, ready to stand up, "Maybe I should go make some coffee, or..."

"Ana, relax. You don't need to earn your keep or anything. Just sit for a bit. Jet's keeping Spike occupied, and...I could use the company."

Both women looked as though they'd just found themselves on a very awkward first date. Faye didn't want to be too presumptuous in calling Ana her friend. The last time she thought she'd finally managed to make a female friend, it turned out to be Julia. And the last thing Julia had been interested in was making friends.

And yet, Ana had been very much a friend these past few weeks. She'd comforted her in the hospital, she'd taken care of her after that party at the hotel, and she'd driven her sister to the hospital. That's what friends do for each other, isn't it?

_Agatha. _

_She reminds me of Agatha._

"I don't know why I went to see him," Faye started. Ana raised her chin, looking almost surprised that Faye was talking so candidly with her. She continued softly, "Okay, that's not true. I know why I went to see him. I wanted to say goodbye."

That's not true, either.

Still sitting on the floor, Ana shifted uncomfortably. Faye used her free hand to clear some more room on the bed, shoving everything towards the headboard. She shuffled across the mattress, balancing the wok in her lap, until her back was to the wall. Ana climbed onto the bed beside her and crossed her legs. The two women seemed to relax simultaneously. Ana stopped fidgeting with her hair and glasses. Faye stopped gnawing at the inside of her cheek.

This was better.

"When we were young I didn't think I could even breathe without him. Stupid, right?"

Ana blinked. "What's stupid about it?"

Faye smiled, staring up at the ceiling. "I don't know. We were kids, you know? What the hell did either of us know about anything?"

Ana reached out for the wok when it looked like its contents were about to tip into Faye's lap. Lost in her thoughts, Faye wasn't paying enough attention to do it herself. Peering into the ice Ana said, "I'm not sure I know much more now than I did when I was a kid. But I know that when I loved someone, I didn't ask questions. You don't think so much when you're that young, I guess."

Faye's hand squirmed in the ice. She took it out momentarily and gave it a few good shakes.

"I took a cab back here early this morning," Faye whispered. "I wasn't going to put it on. It was in my jacket pocket. I don't know what I was thinking. I wanted to look at it, or something. The second I got the thing on my finger, I knew I wouldn't be able to take it off again. I mean _physically _take it off. I'd hurt my hand earlier and my fingers were already starting to swell. As soon as it was on my finger, I started to panic. I practically pulled bones out of their sockets trying to twist it off, which I'm pretty sure didn't help matters."

Faye lifted her hand out of the wok again. She glanced at the ring only briefly. Looking at it made her chest hurt.

"Maybe I waited too long to put it on ice," she mused aloud, not sure what she was referring to anymore.

Lyrics quoted from Suzanne Vega's _Solitude Standing_ and _Last Year's Troubles. _Also quoted are lyrics fromMike Doughty's_ I Hear the Bells_. Don't sue, please.


	107. I'm Gonna Bleed Your Mind

Oh my…

Is that you?

It's been so long.

I've missed you.

ssg.x.

* * *

**I'm gonna fade your soul**  
**I'm gonna bleed your mind**  
**Until you're mine**

* * *

Ezekiel can't watch Faye leave, despite managing to put on a brave front for her sake. Instead, he smiles and waves as though he'll be seeing her after class this afternoon, then briskly turns and walks into the lobby of Bea's building.

The elevator still isn't working, and Ezekiel isn't sure he's in any condition to walk up five flights of stairs to get to the apartment. When he pushes open the door to the stairs and looks up at the seemingly endless spiral of steps, he rolls his eyes and chuckles sourly.

_She doesn't know how sick I am._

It isn't until Ezekiel stops to catch his breath on the third floor landing that he hears it, in between the sounds of his heart pounding in his head, and his blood growing denser in his ears.

Footsteps climbing towards the landing below, stopping only seconds after he stops.

Ezekiel swears under his breath. He bends awkwardly in half, and his hands on his thighs become the only things holding him up. He can hear the stranger, evidently in no better shape, trying to catch his own breath on the landing below. _Good._ In about thirty seconds he'll have to make a mad dash up the rest of the stairs and down the hall to the apartment. He won't be able to get a thing done without a gun.

"Meet you up there," he whispers. He straightens and runs, taking on the steps two at a time. The cold fist around his heart squeezes mercilessly, nails biting into the flesh of it. He grits his teeth and presses on. The pain is almost unbearable, and causes his eyes to well up with tears. He's barely able to see five feet in front of himself now.

_You're almost there. Keep going. Keep breathing._

He can hear the stranger's heavy footfalls, not nearly as far behind him as he hoped they'd be by now. Ezekiel blindly reaches forward, fumbling for the steel handle of the door that will lead him to Bea's apartment. He feels the entire wall of his chest seize as his hand tenses against the doorframe. He falls to his knees and glances upwards.

_You'd just love for me to beg you for mercy right now, wouldn't you?_

"Ezekiel!"

He opens his eyes and waits calmly for the three doors he sees to become one again. He recognizes the voice between each hammering beat of his heart.

"Ezekiel, are you _trying_ to kill yourself?"

The short, gray-haired man crouches down beside Ezekiel. He grabs his elbow and tries to gently pull him up off the floor. Ezekiel looks up at him.

"Doc…?"

"Yes, boy. Come on. Let me help you up. Let's get you back to the apartment."

Ezekiel looks up at him and grins. "Boy?"

Doc huffs and shakes his head. "Don't be a smart-ass. Help me help you. Some of us have aged, after all."

* * *

**Under a sky, no one sees,**  
**Waiting, watching it happening.**  
**Don't hurry, give it time,**  
**Things are the way they have to be.**  
**Slow down, give it time,**  
**Still life, you know I'm listening.**

**The moment that you want is coming if you give it time.**

* * *

"You know, they don't just hand out medical licenses like takeout menus. Sometimes I do admit to thinking otherwise, but you can trust I got mine the old-fashioned way. So you'd be wise to heed my advice."

Doc gives Ezekiel a gentle pat on the back and eases himself back into Bea's yellow armchair across from him. He smiles sadly, "How are you doing, old friend?"

Ezekiel shakes his head, "Miserable. Don't you get tired of hearing it?"

"It's been a few weeks since I saw you last. If I had to hear it every day, then maybe."

"Well, I'm sick of saying it. Did you take care of everything?"

"Don't I always? She'll be back with her family by this afternoon, if she hasn't arrived already. I'm expecting a call of confirmation any time now."

Ezekiel lifts his legs up onto the couch and lays down. "I appreciate it."

"You're still winded. Are you taking your medication? Forget I asked that. If you don't care, I shouldn't care either. But Beatrice cared. Faye cares."

Ezekiel, eyes still closed, asks, "How long have you been here for?"

The old doctor takes his thick glasses off and holds them out, examining them for dust or scratches. Without them, his eyes are about five times smaller. His grey hair sticks out of the sides of his head like feathers. He looks more like a mad scientist than a doctor.

He pulls a handkerchief from his back pocket and begins polishing the lenses. "A while. Shortly after Faye showed up. I saw her heading into the lobby and decided to wait her out across the street. Drank a lot of coffee. What were you two up to?"

Ezekiel chuckles. "You should have married. Maybe you wouldn't have to live out a sex life vicariously through others."

Doc laughs and replaces glasses. "Maybe. Answer the question, if you think I need it so badly."

"Nothing. We weren't up to anything. We were just talking. I had a lot of stuff to tell her before she left for good."

"No funny business then?"

Ezekiel glares at him. "Nothing funny about this."

"Well, then, speaking seriously now, I think you did the right thing. Despite it going against Beatrice's wishes. She was an amazing woman, but she did a lot more thinking with her heart than her head. Now just because I agree with your decision to let the girl go, doesn't mean I agree with your decision to just sit here and rot away like a corpse. You could have a decent couple of years left if you just took care of yourself."

The desire to change the subject is strong enough that Ezekiel asks a question he's been dreading to since the doctor's last visit.

"Have you found out anything new about Spiegelman?"

The doctor reaches for the leather bag by his feet. He opens it on his lap and starts rifling through his papers.

"Yes, as a matter of fact. I didn't want to say anything over any communicators, so I didn't mention anything when I spoke to you about Beatrice last night. I wanted to come speak to you in person."

The long pause before either of them speaks again has Ezekiel holding his breath long enough that he loses his grip on it again. He stands and heads for the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water.

"What did you find out?" he asks. After fumbling to open the cabinet above and retrieving a glass, he holds it under the tap to fill it. Before he can even attempt a sip at it, he has to put the glass down on the counter so he won't drop it. The tingling in his left hand quickly renders it completely useless. The last thing he needs is for Doc to start rambling on about medication again. He needs the old man to focus.

"I've known him for a couple of years now. And I've known Jet for even longer. I've patched the two of them up so many times now I couldn't even give you a number. But I don't keep buckets of their blood under my bed. The last time he was in with that gunshot wound to his shoulder, though, I was able to collect a little blood sample."

"What for?"

"Bea thought you and he might be related," Doc says. "The thought never occurred to you?"

Ezekiel reaches for the glass of water, this time with his right hand, taking a few big gulps of it.

Yes, of course it's occurred to him. They look so much alike. But he and Nora never had any children. When Beatrice had first hinted to him that there could be a chance Nora had his son and never told him about it, he explained to her that it was impossible.

He made certain that could never happen a little over a week before his wedding.

* * *

**You try so hard to be cold**  
**You try so hard to not show**  
**I give you nothing to doubt, and you doubt me**  
**I give you all that I have, but you don't see**

* * *

The first time Ezekiel and Nora slept together was early in the morning, before the sun rose, on their second day as husband and wife.

He woke up to find her on top of him. At first his vision was still blurred enough, his senses still fuzzy enough, that it could have been anyone up there, which meant that it could also have been Faye. The haze wore off too soon, though, and Ezekiel's eyes widened as he sucked a sharp breath in through his teeth, ready to shout for Nora to get away from him. Nora was startled but recovered quickly, reaching out and placing a hand over his mouth before he could make a sound. She lifted a finger from her other hand to her lips.

"Shh…"

Ezekiel said nothing, and after several moments had passed, Nora removed the hand from his mouth, placing it across his eyes instead.

_Okay._

She began to move above him again. He bit back a gasp and, not knowing what to do with his hands, reached up over his head, clenching the pillow with both his fists and squeezing with all his might. Nora's hand was no longer covering his eyes but he kept them closed.

_Okay._

Nora had known about Faye for some time. All of Nadsat's fans did. She'd made the stupid mistake of slipping blissfully and blindly into a saviour complex. She found his perpetual state of mourning irresistible. Of course she did. She was too young to understand his loss beyond its making its way into a song here and there.

She looked like Faye. The hair, the lips, the way she'd lace her fingers behind his back when she tried to hold him. They were all the right pieces to the wrong puzzle. She wasn't Faye.

"Do you ever think you'll get married?"

"Do you?" he asked. They sat beside each other on the back deck of some random beach house Jimmy had volunteered to become victim to a particularly nasty strain of after-tour party. The sun was rising. Ezekiel doesn't remember much else about it. Except -

"I think so," Nora said.

That might be how it happened, actually. That might have been the day he proposed. That might have been the proposal itself.

How sad, he thought. She deserved so much better. He didn't hate Nora. He rather liked her. She was a fast learner. They settled very quickly into a routine. She knew when to leave him alone.

In the beginning, she had no real expectations of him. She was happy to be on his arm when the band was expected to make an appearance at an awards show or charity event. She liked the attention. She liked dressing up. She was a good hostess for whatever plastic play-thing Jimmy decided to bring over any given night.

"So what's her name again?" Ezekiel asked Jimmy. They were going over some song lyrics together while Nora and Jimmy's latest Barbie doll were drinking and chatting out on the balcony one evening.

Jimmy looked back over his shoulder at them. He chuckled. "You know, I don't know. Darcy, I think."

Ezekiel nodded. "You're a classy guy, Jimmy."

He grinned. "Well, we can't all be as lucky in love as you."

_Lucky in love._

Ezekiel remembered thinking at the time that it was a snarky referral to Faye's accident. He'd wanted to put his fist through Jimmy's teeth. But, moments later, when Nora slipped through the sliding doors to get some more ice for her drink, Ezekiel caught the look in Jimmy's eyes – there wasn't a doubt in his mind that his best friend was in love with his wife. The "luck" Jimmy was referring to was the pixie dust that got him Nora. His proclamation had been a sincere one.

At the time, Ezekiel thought it would be in very bad taste to tell Jimmy he was welcome to take her. Had he known how much his friend would grow to hate him anyways, he would have risked Jimmy's anger and spoken the words aloud that night. It probably would have mercifully saved them both years of having to watch their friendship disintegrate.

Ezekiel wasn't sure if Jimmy ever wished things had been different. Probably not. If things had been different, Jimmy might never have ended up with Nora. Ezekiel knew that Jimmy would have no problem sacrificing Faye's life to keep Nora in his.

Ezekiel knew this because he'd have taken anyone's life if it meant he could give it to Faye.

* * *

**Will the beams**  
**Be broke and crossed**  
**Motion sensed**  
**It's all heat**  
**So to sing along, cry**  
**It's not over**

* * *

"You grew up an only child, you said?"

Ezekiel returns to his spot on the couch and nods. Doc arches an eyebrow at him.

"You're sure about that?"

He shrugs his shoulders.

"Of course I'm sure."

"You stopped talking to your parents soon after Faye –"

"Yes," Ezekiel says, wondering if Doc is going to say what he thinks he's going to say.

He does.

"You and Spike are definitely related."

_Crap._

"I think you may have a brother."

_CRAP._

"He's my _brother_?"

Doc chuckles and shakes his head.

"No, no. Spike isn't your brother."

He heaves a huge sigh of relief and lets out a little laugh.

_Thank Christ for that._

"My guess is that he's your nephew."

"Oh…" Ezekiel says, at a loss for any more words.

That's…just as bad, actually.

* * *

**Lyrics quoted from Black Rebel Motorcycle Club's _Howl_ and _Shadow on the Run_, The Horrors' _Still Life_, and The New Pornographers' _Moves_. Please don't sue.**


End file.
